


The Fall

by nimbus2003



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Marriage Law Challenge, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Power Couple, Powerful Hermione Granger, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimbus2003/pseuds/nimbus2003
Summary: Tom Riddle never became Lord Voldemort. Instead, he quietly accumulated power and became the youngest Minister ever elected. When she discovers that Tom is her soulmate, Hermione allows herself to be Bound to him as part of a Hogwarts tradition. With time, Hermione discovers that her Tom is not what he seems - and learns the meaning of power. (Optional Marriage Law, Soulmates, Dark Tom, Eventual Dark Hermione)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 493
Kudos: 1303





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've had this idea floating around in my head for awhile. It might help to read this explanation of what the Binding Ceremony is before you begin reading. 
> 
> Essentially, in this AU, all Hogwarts students are told who their soulmate is the day before they graduate. They are then "Bound" to their soulmate, which is similar to marriage. This is an accepted tradition and, although it is not mandatory, almost all students choose to participate. 
> 
> Also, in this story, Tom never became Lord Voldemort. He's still Dark!, however.

**CHAPTER ONE: THE BINDING**

It was the day of the Binding Ceremony. Love songs echoed through the halls. Girls giggled and gossiped as they dressed. Everyone was full of cheer and anticipation. 

Everyone, that is, except for Hermione Granger. She sat at her vanity, drumming her fingers on the desk. Behind her, Ginny did her best to tame Hermione’s hair. 

“It’s just a bit odd, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. Ginny didn’t respond, opting instead to attack a particularly vicious knot.

Hermione tried again. “How can the examiners know who your perfect match is?”

Ginny sighed. “Magic. Obviously. Now, can you keep your head still?” 

“Maybe it just seems strange because I grew up without the concept of soulmates,” Hermione conceded. 

“I can’t imagine that,” Ginny said. “How do muggles do it? I know plenty of couples who wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for the Binding. Harry’s mum and dad, for example. And you know how happy they are.” 

Hermione shrugged. “Muggles do their best. Sometimes they get it wrong, sometimes they get it right. Either way, at least it’s their choice.” 

Ginny turned to look Hermione in the eye. “Listen up. This might seem weird, but you’re going to meet the love of your life today. In about two hours, you’ll regret worrying, so try to be excited.” 

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop agonizing.” 

“Perfect. Now, I’ve got your outfit all picked out.” 

Upon seeing the dress that Ginny had chosen, Hermione groaned. “I’m not wearing that.” 

Ginny gave her a look, but Hermione didn’t flinch. Driven to compromise by the time constraint, the pair decided on a different sundress. It was blue and, according to Ginny, frightfully modest, but Hermione liked it. It twirled around her knees as she left her dorm. 

Harry and Ron were waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Ron seemed calm. Harry was bouncing up and down, unable to keep still. An affectionate smile made its way onto Hermione’s face.

“You alright?” 

Harry shook his head. “Not particularly.” 

“Me neither,” said Hermione.

Ron tossed his arms around both their shoulders. “Come on, you lot! You’re acting like someone’s got a gun to your head. This is supposed to be fun. Meet your soulmate and all that.” 

Harry frowned. “Some of us have a lot on the line, Ron.” Hermione didn’t miss the way his eyes found Ginny’s while he spoke. 

Ron remained unfazed. “Oi, shut it. Let’s head down.” 

The three of them made their way to the Great Hall, where Professor Dumbledore was waiting with the rest of their class. Hermione couldn’t help looking around, wondering if she’d be Bound to someone there by the end of the night. 

After a few, painstaking minutes, Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the gathered students. “Welcome to the Binding Ceremony.” Cheers went up from the crowd. “In a few moments, you will enter the Hall. Inside, examiners are waiting to perform the soulmate charm. Please wait patiently for your turn. 

“In the event that your soulmate is still underage, or is a muggle, we will assist you. Further questions should be directed to the examiners. Now, balderdash!” 

With that, Dumbledore stepped to the side. The door behind him swung open, revealing an eerie scene. The Hall was dark. Tents stood in the place of the usual tables. 

“Who are they?” Hermione whispered. Her gaze had wandered to a small group of men and women gathered at the back of the Hall. 

Romilda Vane sneered at her. “Not such a know-it-all now, are you?” 

Lavender sighed. “Come off it, Romilda.” She turned to face Hermione, lowering her voice. “Those are the Returners. Their soulmates weren’t of age when they were tested, so they were told to come back this year and be Bound.” 

Hermione tried and failed to make out their faces before turning her attention to a severe looking woman in the center of the room. “Welcome,” she said. Her voice was calm. “Please form lines.” 

The crowd began to disperse. Hermione followed Ron and Harry to a tent near the back. When no one stepped forward, Ron shrugged. “I’ll go first, then.” He disappeared into the darkness. 

Harry had begun to shake. Hermione gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. There’s no law that says you can’t leave right now.” 

He shrugged her off. “Of course I have to. If I walk away, I might be happy with Ginny. Or I might not. If I stay, I’ll know.” 

Harry was right, of course. That was why every witch and wizard went through the Binding Ceremony. Why embrace risk when they can embrace certainty? 

Before they could continue the conversation, Ron reappeared. He was grinning. 

“Well?” Harry asked.

“Me and Lavender!” Ron exalted. “I’ve got to wait for her to finish her reading before we can be Bound, but we’re a match.” 

Hermione smiled as Ron walked off to the waiting area. She could picture a happy future for him. He and Lavender were both joyfully frivolous.

Harry entered the tent next, leaving Hermione alone. She felt like he was inside forever, but when he came out, he was smiling too. “My soulmate’s not of age yet.” 

“So it’s Ginny,” Hermione surmised. 

A grin spread across Harry’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, I reckon it is. They wouldn’t tell me, to protect the innocence of whoever it is. But I’m hopeful. Next year, when Ginny comes of age, I’ll know for sure.” 

Hermione stepped forward to hug him. “I’m happy for you.” And she meant it. She could picture his future, too. Ginger children running around, making trouble. Sunday nights at the Burrow. He would be happy. 

She would be happy too, Hermione reminded herself. Then she stepped inside. 

She’d been expecting a magically expanding tent. It wasn’t. The interior was plain, with two stools and nothing else. An old man sat on one. She took a seat on the other. 

“Hermione Granger,” the stranger croaked. “Shall we?” 

Unable to speak, Hermoine nodded. “Hold out your arm. This will hurt a bit.”

The old man rolled up her sleeve before pricking her with a pin. Hermione watched a drop of her blood fall into his hand. 

Blood magic. 

He closed his eyes and began to cast the spell. White light circled his arm, drawing the droplet of blood into its orbit. After a few seconds, the old man smiled. “Ah, my dear girl. Someone has been waiting for you for quite some time.” 

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes. “Tom Riddle is your Match.” 

Hermione froze. “Tom Riddle? That’s impossible!” 

The man chuckled. “I’ve been doing this for nearly 50 years. My reading is accurate.”

She stuttered. “But he’s the Minister for Magic!”

“Ministers have soulmates too, girl. Even ones as powerful as Tom Riddle.” He looked her dead in the eyes. “Did you really think that one of your classmates was your soulmate? You’re the brightest witch of your age. It’s no surprise you were meant for someone powerful.” 

“I-” 

He stood up, abruptly. “Go meet your Match, Ms. Granger. I’ve got other tests to do.” 

Hermione left the tent, legs wobbling beneath her. The Reader’s words replayed in her mind. She couldn’t deny the truth behind them. If he had told her that she was meant to spend the rest of her life with Cormac McLaggen, she never would have believed him. 

Tom Riddle, though? She didn’t know anything about the man, beyond the fact that he was the most powerful Minister in recent history. His politics were generic, but they were fine. No glaring red flags. Beyond that, everything was murky. 

There were rumors, of course. Hermione shuddered. Better not to think about those. 

Even the dim lighting in the Great Hall was enough to blind her after the darkness of the tent. She took a few seconds to adjust before walking over to the waiting area. The students around her were buzzing. Hermione was too stunned to try and piece together who had been paired with who. There would be time for that later. 

Hermione had barely arrived in the waiting area when a staffer made their way over to her. “Ms. Granger.” 

She attempted a smile. “Hello.” 

“The Minister would prefer to perform the Binding in a separate room.” 

That was a relief, at least. Hermione didn’t want to think about the stares she would get in the Great Hall. “Of course,” she replied. “Should I follow you?” 

The attendant smiled. “Yes, you should. I’m Bellatrix.”

“Pleased to meet you.” The words were automatic. 

Bellatrix laughed. It brought life to her features, which were rather sunken. “I’m glad that you’ve polite. It will make my life easier.” 

That caught Hermione’s attention. “Your life?” 

“I’m the Minister’s senior assistant. I handle his public presence and, now, yours.” Sensing she was overwhelming Hermione, Bellatrix changed topics. “We’re almost there.” 

Hermione took a deep breath. As uncertain as she was, she didn’t want to seem like a fool in front of the Minister. In front of Tom. 

Using his name felt wrong, even in her mind. 

Bellatrix stopped short at an ornate door. Hermione recognized it as Professor McGonagall’s office. “Here you are.” 

“You’re not coming in?” 

Bellatrix shook her head. “No.” 

Hermione waited for Bellatrix to elaborate. When she didn’t, Hermione pushed open the door and stepped inside. Behind McGonagall’s desk sat a terrified looking officiant. To his right stood Tom Riddle. 

Hermione was stuck by the intensity of his gaze. His eyes swept across her body, giving Hermione the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She was glad that Ginny hadn’t talked her into wearing a revealing dress. 

Tom didn’t look half as old as Hermione had feared. He was handsome, in an austere sort of way. There was no softness to his face, no roundness. It was all angles. Hermione could practically feel power radiating off of him. 

He spoke first. “Hermione.” 

“Hello, Minister,” she tried, unsure of how to address him. 

He shook his head. “Just Tom.” 

“Tom, then.”

Hearing his name must have pleased him, because he offered her his hand. “Shall we?” 

His hand was rough. Large, too. He was bigger than her, in every sense. 

The moment felt rushed. They met seconds ago. Already, they were going to give their lives to one another? Hermione wanted to speak up, to slow everything down, but the officiant had cleared his throat. It was too late. 

“We’ll now begin the Binding.”

The officiant waved his wand. Light, similar to the light from the tent, blanketed Tom and Hermione. “Do you,” the man asked, “swear to be loyal to one another?” 

“Yes,” they echoed. 

“Do you swear to uphold the sacred duties of Binding?”

“Yes,” they said. They spoke in perfect unison.

“Do you swear to love one another, as best you can?” 

“Yes.” 

With that, the light began to diminish and the officiant smiled. “I declare you Bound. From now until the end.”

Hermione felt Tom’s grip tighten for a second. Then he dropped her hand. 

The world felt different, as if everything had shifted two inches to the left. Before, life had rotated around Hermione’s axis. Now, life was an orbit. It was her and Tom and Tom and her. With every breath, she sensed his presence. 

The officiant scuttled out of the room. They were alone. Tom gestured to the chairs. “Shall we sit?” 

They did, Hermione supposed, have a lot to discuss. She took a seat, folding her legs neatly beneath the chair. Tom followed suit. Seeing that Hermione wasn’t going to begin the conversation, Tom spoke. “I’m probably not what you were expecting.” 

The tension that had been building for the past few hours bubbled over. Hermione laughed. “No, not necessarily.” 

“Age differences are an unfortunate reality of the Binding Ceremony. I know it might be alarming that I’m not one of your schoolmates.” Hermione couldn’t sense what emotion lay behind his words. They sounded reassuring, but there was an edge to them. 

“I’m not concerned about the difference of a few years,” she replied. “And I certainly don’t wish you were one of the boys in my year. In fact, if you were, I would’ve run for my life.” 

Her response was a bit harsh, but Hermione hated being patronized. She didn’t mind if Tom was older than her. If he was intent on treating her like a child, though, they were going to have a problem. 

To her surprise, Tom smiled. He hadn’t smiled when they met, or during the ceremony, but her outrage pleased him. “My apologies. I assumed that was what you meant when you said you were surprised.” 

Did she have to spell it out for him? Hermione blinked. “I was surprised because you’re the Minister.” 

The good humor slipped off Tom’s face, gone as quickly as it had appeared. “That shouldn’t be a surprise. You are, by all accounts, an extraordinary witch. You were not meant to live an average life.” 

Hermione swallowed. Hard. 

Tom’s gaze was unrelenting, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Again, he broke the silence. “There are, though, a few orders of business related to my work that we should discuss.” 

Bellatrix’s words came back to Hermione in a rush. _I handle his public presence and, now, yours._

Tom shifted in his seat. “The papers have no shame. They think that no story is too personal to report, especially where I am concerned.” He paused, toying with a signet ring on his finger. “I have every reason to expect that, by tomorrow, they will be reporting every detail of our Binding.” 

Here, he stopped completely. From the way he was looking at her, Hermione could tell that he was expecting a reaction. “Should that bother me?” She asked.

“I thought it might,” he admitted.

“Well, it doesn’t,” Hermione said stubbornly. “I don’t care if they report about us.” 

Tom drummed his fingers against the armrest. “They’ll discuss our age difference. _10 Years_ will be the headline of every major newspaper in the country. They’ll drag out every boyfriend you’ve ever had and interview them. They’ll find your family and hound them until they comment.” 

Hermione snorted. “I’ve never dated and both of my parents are muggles. They’re protected by the Statute of Secrecy. As for the age difference, I’ve already told you that they can shove it.” 

The conversation was not going the way Tom had expected, but he didn’t let it faze him. Hermione watched his brows knit for a single second before he moved on. 

“It’s my turn to be surprised, I suppose. You’re not what I expected, either.” The words could have meant anything, but Tom’s tone made it clear that he was complimenting her. 

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Bellatrix slid into the room, paper in hand. “Minister, you have a meeting in half an hour. There’s been an incident in France.” 

Tom’s eyes flashed, but his tone stayed neutral. “I’m busy, Bella. Is the world ending?” 

“Not yet,” she admitted, “but it might.” 

“Does France not have its own Ministry?”

Bellatrix didn’t give an inch. “It does. The French Ministry requests your help.” 

“You should go,” Hermione offered. Both sets of eyes snapped to her.“I don’t mind.” 

Tom’s manner remained unchanged, but Hermione could tell that he was unhappy. “I refuse to leave you. There are rituals to be upheld. We’re meant to attend the feast together. To become acquainted.” 

“There will be another feast,” Hermione assured him. “Besides, it’s better this way. I can break the news to my friends. You and Bellatrix can get ahead of the press. After I graduate tomorrow, we’ll have all the time in the world.” 

Bellatrix sensed an in. “She’s right, you know. Nothing happens the night of the Binding. Everyone is in shock and the feast is a bore. Graduation is a hungover mess.” 

Hermione smiled. “Go save the world. In a day, I’ll be yours.” 

At that, something ignited in Tom. “Be careful, Hermione,” he chuckled. “I might hold you to that.” 

She blushed. “Within reason.” 

Tom stood. “Too late. You offered without conditions.” His hand grazed her chin. “I regret that our first conversation was brief and mundane. When I return, we’ll remedy that.” 

With that, he was gone.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all. I'm SO grateful for the lovely response to this story. I'm having fun writing it and it's great to see that people are enjoying the work. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I've decided this will be around 16 chapters, if it doesn't get away from me. There are lots of scenes I'm excited to write, so we'll see.
> 
> I love this story because I'm super interested by the idea of your soulmate being evil -- does that mean you're destined to be evil, too? Does it mean you have to change them? I suppose we'll find out.

**CHAPTER TWO: THE REVEALS**

As soon as Tom left, Hermione missed him. Loneliness washed over her like a tidal wave. Even so, she didn’t regret telling Tom to go to France. Their brief conversation had shown her how passionate Tom was about his job. 

She’d hate to begin their relationship by standing in the way of it. 

With a sigh, Hermione began the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower. Idly, she wondered if she’d missed any interesting pairings. It took her half to walk to realize that her Match was almost certainly the most dramatic. 

She was dreading breaking the news of her pairing to Ron and Harry. She loved them both, but their tendency to overreact was notorious. She worried that the details of her Binding might blow their minds. 

Normally, Hermione tried to head their madness off at the pass. Unfortunately, there was no time to build up to today’s announcement. She was going to have to wing it. 

Merlin, she hated winging it. 

Her dread must have been obvious, because The Fat Lady offered her a glass of wine. 

“Go on, dearie!” She said. “Just a sip. You look like you need it.” 

Hermione didn’t react. “Treacle.” 

The Fat Lady looked offended, but she let her portrait swing open. “When you change your mind, I’ll be here.” 

Hermione continued to ignore her. 

She made her way into the Gryffindor common room and collapsed into the empty first armchair she saw. Harry and Ron came through a few minutes later, brightening when they saw her. 

“Hermione,” Ron cheered. “Where’d you head off to? Harry and I have been looking for you all afternoon.”

Judging by the lipstick on his neck, Harry had done most of the looking. Hermione suspected that Ron and Lavender had been otherwise engaged. 

“My Match asked to do the Binding privately,” Hermione answered. 

Harry looked up at her, distracted from the Snitch in his hand for the first time. “Why would anyone need to do it privately? The whole school will know everyone’s pairs by tomorrow, anyway.” 

“More like the whole world,” Hermione muttered. 

Ron squinted at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said, flashing him a smile. “Just talking to myself.” 

“Well, are you going to keep us in suspense?” Harry asked. “Who is he?” 

Hermione gritted her teeth before forcing a smile onto her face. “His name is Tom Riddle. He’s --” 

Ron cut in. “He’s the Minister! Bloody hell, Hermione.” A vein was throbbing in his forehead. “There must be some kind of mistake.” 

She frowned. “Why would you say that?” 

Harry took over, clearly trying to save Ron from saying something that he’d regret. “I think Ron is just surprised. I guess we were expecting you to be Matched with someone more familiar.” 

“Were you?” Hermione couldn’t suppress a wry grin. “And which member of our graduating class would want to be Bound to me?” 

Hermione let them stutter for a few moments before she put them out of their misery. “Exactly. In the end, I’m relieved that it’s Tom. Better him than Michael Corner.” 

“What, er, what’s he like?” Ron asked. 

Hermione released her breath. Ron was trying. The worst of it was over, then. “He’s severe, but I can tell he’s dedicated to this process. He’s been waiting a long time, after all. We met less than an hour ago, so it’s difficult to say, but I think he’ll make me happy.” 

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Harry joked. “I’m excited to meet him at the feast tonight.” 

“He’s not coming to the feast,” Hermione said gingerly. “There was a diplomatic emergency in France. And, well, he is the Minister.” 

Ron frowned. “He left?” 

Hermione shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. But I told him to go.” 

“You told him to go?” Harry repeated, incredulous. 

“Of course. I’d hate for the world to collapse because I demanded his presence at some ridiculous meal.”

Ron and Harry were staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “Well,” Ron eventually said, “maybe you are meant for each other. I don’t know any other girls who’d let their Match skip the feast. Bloody workaholics, both of you.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but his words stung. Hermione stood, quickly. “I think I’ll skip the feast. I’m not particularly interested in being the entertainment.” 

Harry caught her arm as she walked by him. “You know we’re happy for you, right? We want you to have a successful Match.” 

“Riddle’s got a bit of a reputation,” Ron added. “But I trust your judgement. The more I think about it, you’re probably well-suited.” 

The ice around Hermione’s exterior melted. Their concern was, she supposed, merited. Tom was a powerful man. 

“I know,” she said.

Ron grinned, a mischievous light filtering into his eyes. “Carry on, then, Lady Hermione.” 

“Oh, fuck off, Ronald.” 

“The Minister’s Match is considered to be a Lady. I don’t make the rules.” 

Hermione groaned. “I could really do without the title.” 

“That’s unfortunate, my Lady,” Harry couldn’t resist chiming in. 

Hermione made sure to smack them both on the arm both before retreating to her room. 

The dorm was empty. Her belongings were packed and ready to move, as were Lavender's and Pavarti’s. Without the usual clutter, the space felt impersonal and strange. 

It was hard to believe that it was her last night in Gryffindor Tower. Tomorrow, she would be a Hogwarts graduate. Tomorrow, she would leave her home. Tomorrow, she would begin her life with Tom. 

Tomorrow. 

But what to do with tonight? 

Hermione glanced at her bookshelf. It was empty. That sealed the deal; she knew where she had to go. Not bothering with a disillusionment charm, she followed the familiar path to the library. It was deserted. Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen. 

Hermione slipped into the Restricted Section. She stayed there long past curfew, making up for years of inability to get at Hogwarts’ most scandalous volumes. When she realized it was 1AM, she left with a sigh. 

Lavender wasn’t in bed when Hermione got back to her room. Ron, she surmised, was a lucky man. 

As soon as her head touched the pillow, sleep claimed her. 

She woke to the sound of Ginny’s voice. “Up! Up!” 

Hermione pulled her sheets over her eyes, unwilling to part with her blankets. “What time is it?” 

“Graduation time,” Ginny replied.

With a start, Hermione jolted out of bed. Graduation, Tom. It all came rushing back to her. She tried to dash off to the Great Hall, but Ginny pushed her onto her desk chair. “I took the liberty of stealing you breakfast from the kitchens. We’re going to need every second we’ve got.” 

Hermione took a bite of toast. “You’re the best, Gin.” 

The redhead grinned. “I know. Now, sit still.” 

“Do you happen to have a copy of today’s paper?” Hermione’s tone was overly measured. She hoped it wasn’t obvious. 

“Why?” Ginny asked. “Do you need some reading material, Mrs. Riddle?” 

Hermione groaned. “You have read it, then. I was hoping to be the one to tell you.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Ginny said, “I meant to ask about your Match last night, but I didn’t see you at the feast.” She paused. “Now that I think about it, that was probably intentional.” 

“It was,” Hermione admitted. “I didn’t fancy the idea of having to convince a million people that I’d really matched with the Minister.” 

She took another bite of toast. “Was the article tasteful, at least? Tom warned me it might be vicious.” 

Ginny shook her head. “He must’ve called in a few favors, because it wasn’t negative at all. Lots of fluff about how you’re going to be a perfect counterbalance to Minister Riddle’s stoicism. They made a big deal about your intelligence.” 

Hermione smiled. “That’s good to hear.” 

Ginny stopped braiding. “Are you going to be happy, Hermione?” 

Brown eyes met in the mirror. “You told me to trust the magic, Ginny. Now it’s my turn to tell you. Tom is --” Hermione broke off, trying to find the words. “He’s intense. He’s clearly obsessed with work and knowledge. I haven’t known him long, but I believe in this future.” 

Ginny resumed braiding. “I trust you. And I trust the magic. But your whole life is different now, you get that, right?” 

It was a truth Hermione had been avoiding. She swallowed. “I know that there will be different expectations and obligations. I’m aware that privacy will be invaded. If I can love him, I’m willing to deal with all of that.” 

Silence. 

Hermione continued. “I never expected to be Matched. I didn’t think anyone would understand my priorities or my personality. And I’ll be the first to admit that I barely know Tom. I can see it, though. I can see it with him.” 

By the end, she was choked up. Ginny handed her a tissue, a silent gesture of acceptance. “Don’t you dare cry. I’ve already done the mascara charm.” 

There was a lull in the conversation until, clearly bursting, Ginny spoke again. “So, he’s hot, right?” 

“Ginny!” 

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She paused. “He is hot, right?” 

Hermione blushed. “He’s hot. Are you happy now?” 

“Oh,” Ginny said, “I’m quite pleased.” 

They gossiped throughout the morning. Ginny filled Hermione in on the other pairings. There weren’t many surprises. Ron and Lavender. Dean and Seamus. Neville and Hannah. Romilda and, to Hermione’s satisfaction, Cormac. 

Slytherin’s Matches were more interesting. Blaise and Theo had been Matched and, afterwards, revealed they’d been together for years.

“No,” Hermione exclaimed. Ginny nodded. 

“You should probably put your dress on,” she said. “Graduation starts in about an hour, but I think people will be milling about long before then.” 

Hermione nodded. “I’ll get changed.” 

“See you on the lawn,” Ginny called, already out the door. 

Hermione walked over to the closet. Her dress hung alone, the only clothing she hadn’t packed. She loved it. It was white and deceptively simple. The top was tight, with a square neckline that reminded her of old fashioned dresses. The bottom flowed around her knees. 

She stopped at the mirror, taking in her appearance. Smoothed curls, soft makeup.

Satisfied, she left Gryffindor Tower for the last time. The door shut with a finality that made her wince. 

The mere sight of the lawn, however, was enough to raise her spirits. Steamers moved with the wind. Colorful fabric hung in the air, suspended by the unseen force of decorating charms. 

She made her way over to Harry, Ron, and their families. Before she could so much as open her mouth, Lily Evans was hugging her. “I’m sorry to hear that your parents couldn’t make it. Mine didn’t like coming to Hogwarts, either.” 

“It’s alright,” Hermione replied.

The pair straightened. James grinned. “Don’t worry, Lily. If The Prophet’s to be believed, Hermione isn’t short on company.” 

At that exact moment, Molly whisked her over to see the Weasleys, saving her from the embarrassment of responding to James. “You look lovely, dear.” 

“Hermione!” Several of Ron’s brothers echoed the call at once. She forgot herself quickly, enjoying catching up with everyone. Soon enough, Professor Flitwick was asking people to take their seats. 

Graduation itself was a dull affair. Several meaningless speeches were made. Worse yet, more than 150 students received diplomas individually. The sun was beating down and, were it not for cooling charms, Hermione was certain that she would’ve melted. 

As soon as Zabini, Blaise walked across the stage, Hermione made her way to the shade. She removed her charms, enjoying the sensation of natural cooling. 

“Would it have killed them to do this indoors?” She muttered. 

“Funny,” someone replied, “I remember having the same thought.” 

She knew that voice. Her head snapped up. “You’re here.” 

“I am,” Tom replied. 

“What about France?” 

He didn’t smile, but Hermione could sense his amusement. It saturated the air around them, filtered through the bond. “France will be fine. Being away from you was… unpleasant.” 

Her heart skipped. He had felt the loneliness, too. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she replied. “I wasn’t fond of separation.” 

He studied her. “Along that vein, I have a proposition for you.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.” 

“I’m a busy man, Hermione. My free time is rather limited and entirely dependent on the state of the world. I worry that it will be difficult for us to find times to become acquainted.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. 

“Where do you plan to live, now that you’ve graduated?” 

Her breath caught. “I hadn’t decided. I’m planning to stay at the Burrow while I look for a place to rent.” 

Tom’s breath evened out. He sensed a victory. “Come live with me, Hermione. I’m not presuming anything. We can sleep in separate rooms. I just want you near me. I want to be with you, when I can.”

She didn’t hesitate. It was as if someone had laid a path out before her. She could tell that this was the right step. “Alright, Tom.” 

His hand caressed her cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

She laughed, half out of amusement, half to cover the way she shivered at his touch. “Took me long enough.” 

“I should go tell the Weasleys that I won’t need to intrude on their hospitality. Care to join me?” 

“Lead the way.” 

They made their way back to the gathering, a world of darkness next to a white dress and an innocent girl. Hermione’s classmates did their best not to stare, but their eyes were drawn to the pair. 

Tom and Hermione stopped in front of the Weasleys. Molly’s mouth froze, gaping open, at the sight of the Minister. She subtly kicked Fred and George, trying to get them to knock off their play fighting. 

“There you are, dear. Would you care to introduce us?” 

Hermione appreciated Molly’s attempt at nonchalance. “This is Tom. He wanted to meet you.” 

He extended a hand. “Charmed.” 

Hermione would never know whether it was his silken voice or his practiced ease, but Molly relaxed instantly once Tom began speaking. Hermione tuned out his words, trying to focus on everyone's reactions to Tom. 

“-- isn’t that right, Hermione?” 

“Sorry, what?” She was forced to ask. 

Tom laughed. “I was just telling Molly that you’re planning to move into the Minister's Mansion.” 

“Oh, yes! It seems like the best option, given Tom’s schedule.”

To Hermione’s surprise, Molly gave in without a fight. “I quite agree. It’d be foolish to run all over London trying to see each other at odd hours of the day. Besides, you’re both adults. It’s normal for Matches to live together.” 

Ron opened his mouth to speak. Hermione never discovered what he was going to say, however, because Ginny promptly stepped on his foot. “Have a great time, Hermione,” she said. “You’ll have to come visit in a week or two.” 

“Of course,” Hermione promised. “You’ll be sick of me by the time summer’s over.” 

Tom looked pleased. “I hate to break up this party, but I have to be going.” He touched her hand, preparing for side-along apparition. 

Hermione looked up at him. “Let’s go home.” 

She couldn’t make out what emotion filled his eyes at her words. Already, the world was dissolving. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again. I'm trying to write this as fast as I can, so I'm hoping to update every other day or so (just in case you were wondering what the schedule is). 
> 
> Thank you again for your lovely words, kudos, etc. It makes me happy to know everyone is enjoying this during such a crazy time. 
> 
> I finished outlining the ending for this today and let's just say... I'm hyped. And also staying true to the tags :)) Also, sorry if you got multiple notifications. This wasn’t updating and I had to delete and repost a chapter.

**CHAPTER THREE: THE ADJUSTMENTS**

Tom’s property was massive. Gravel walks and manicured gardens surrounded his charming home. It was a classic Tudor, with a pitched roof and an elaborate chimney. 

Hermione stared for several seconds, trying to process the fact that this was her new home. 

“Do you like it?” Tom asked. 

She smiled softly. “I like it very much.” 

“I’ll have Bella show you around later and help you pick a guest room. I’d do it myself, you understand, but she knows the house better than I do at this point.”

“That’s fine,” Hermione assured him. 

They’d reached the door. Tom held it open, ever the perfect gentleman. “Ladies first.”

Hermione opened the other door, laughing. “I’m not a lady, Tom.” 

“Actually,” he said, “you are.”

Her door slammed shut. Tom’s casual expression gave nothing away, but she was certain he was toying with her. Using wandless magic, no less.

Hermione knew a losing battle when she saw one. She walked through Tom’s door, more amused by his behavior than she’d care to admit. 

The interior of the mansion was every bit as beautiful as the exterior. The foyer was dominated by a large staircase. The area around it was wood paneled, with enough red carpeting to add a touch of familiarity. 

Beyond the staircase, Hermione could see through an arched doorway and into the living room. A roaring fireplace filled the back wall. There were various seating areas, each with cozy couches and chairs. 

She dropped her suitcase, relieved to be free of the weight. “It beats sharing a room at the Burrow, I’ll tell you that much.”

Tom laughed, a humorless sound that Hermione was still getting used to. “After the heat of graduation, I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up before dinner. Bella?” 

His assistant was there in a second. Hermione wondered how she’d missed her in the shadows. 

“At your service.”

“Help Hermione pick a room, would you? I’d like to finish the Berlin Contract.”

Bella nodded, then he was gone. 

“How are you handling all of this?” Bellatrix asked. 

Hermione tore her eyes away from the staircase. “The Binding is about change. I knew it would alter my life.” 

Bella gave Hermione a withering look. 

“Fine,” Hermione said. “I’ve lost a bit of sleep, is that what you want to hear? It’s not about Tom -- I trust the magic. But I hate politics and I hate the idea of messing up his career.” 

“What makes you think that you’re going to cause problems?” Bellatrix opened a door as she asked, revealing what Hermonie assumed was the first of her bedroom options. 

“Look at me, Bella. This?” Hermione gestured to her dress and makeup. “This is the best I’ve ever looked. I wear muggle jumpers. I’m useless at beauty charms. I’m just-- I’m not the stereotypical, perfect politician's Match.” 

Bellatrix did not appear moved by Hermione’s speech. She simply raised an eyebrow in the direction of the bedroom. Hermione shook her head in response. The decor was aggressively yellow. 

Once they’d begun moving, Bellatrix replied. “You were right when you said that the Binding is about change. There are worse changes than learning how to dress.” 

Hermione shuddered at the thought of shopping, but nodded. “If you think it’s important, then I’ll give it a shot.”

Bellatrix opened another door. “Excellent. I’ll come by your room tomorrow with a stylist.” 

Hermione gaped at her. “You planned that! You think I need to change the way I look?” 

For the first time in the conversation, Bellatrix turned to face Hermione. As their eyes met, Hermione was shocked by the ferocity and anger in the woman’s gaze. “I have dedicated my life to Tom’s success. I will not stand to see him humiliated because you want to dally around in rags.”

Bellatrix took a deep breath before continuing. “At home, I’m sure Tom doesn’t give a rat’s arse how you dress. He’s an intellectual person. In public, there are certain expectations. I’m not going to lie to you about what they are. You’re not a child.” 

Hermione rested her hand on Bellatrix’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I respect what you do.”

Bellatrix shook Hermione off of her shoulder, but seemed less agitated. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, what do you think of this room?” 

It was gorgeous, but it didn’t suit Hermione’s taste. The curtains were made of pink chiffon. The carpet was similarly colored. “It’s a bit young,” she tried, hoping not to offend Bellatrix further. 

“It’s revolting,” Bellatrix agreed. She slammed the door. 

The conversation ground to a halt. Neither woman was sure of how to ease the tension.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Hermione eventually said. 

Bellatrix snorted. “At least I don’t have to worry about your manners.” She gestured to the next door. “This is the last available room. The others are under renovation.” 

Hermione stepped into the room. It, like the foyer, had been decorated with wood. Green fabric covered the windows, adding a hint of color to the otherwise brown space. It was small, compared to the first two rooms, but it felt like home. 

“It’s next to the library,” Bellatrix added with a smug smile. 

That sealed the deal. “I’ll take it,” Hermione said. 

Bellatrix’s smile grew. 

“What?” Hermione demanded.

“If you must know, Tom’s room is identical. He keeps the master suite for business, but he favors this room’s twin, on the other side of the library.” 

“Oh,” Hermione said. Her heart skipped a beat. 

Bellatrix, still amused, turned to leave. She stopped in the doorway. “Dinner’s at seven. And, Hermione?” 

“Yes?” 

“I think we’re going to get along.”

Hermione threw herself onto the bed, spent. 

She thought of Tom, one room away. She thought about how he, too, had chosen a room next to the library. With a groan, she went to take a very, very cold shower. 

Dressing for dinner presented its own set of challenges. Hermione tore apart her suitcase before, in a moment of utter frustration, she put on jeans and a nice blouse. She glanced at the mirror and was disheartened to see that her elegant curls had disappeared. Her wild frizz had reclaimed its rightful place.

“Right,” she said to her reflection. “Get it together.” 

Finding the dining room was easier than she’d expected. There was, to her delight, a logic to the mansion’s organization.

Tom was waiting for her. He had changed into slacks and a t-shirt. Hermione realized it was the first time she’d seen him out of a suit.

Everything about the situation was odd. Tension built up in Hermione’s stomach until she couldn’t avoid laughing. Tom looked at her as though she’d grown a third arm. 

“Something funny?”

She settled down next to him. “It’s just been a strange couple of days.” 

Food appeared in front of them. “I suppose the idea of Matching must be new to you.” 

“Conceptually, I’ve known about the Binding Ceremony for years. Knowledge is different from experience, though.” Hermione took her first bite of food, trying not to groan at the delicious taste. 

“And has the experience met your expectations?” Tom asked. 

Hermione drummed her fingers on her armrest. “Oh, clearly. I’m a lady now, which is all I really wanted.” 

“I suppose that joke is payback for the incident with the door,” Tom responded drily. 

“Maybe,” Hermione admitted, lips twisted up. She hesitated, busying herself with her food. “Can you feel it?” 

Before she could elaborate, Tom nodded. “Blood magic is nothing to sneer at. It’s powerful.”

“It’s going to make this hard,” Hermione said. “I want to know you as a person. I don’t want the Bond to influence my feelings.” 

“It won’t,” Tom replied. There was a peculiar intensity to his voice. “You can’t manufacture love.”

Hermione stopped attacking her peas. She looked at him. “You’re sure?” 

“Magically impossible,” he assured her. 

She leaned back in her chair. “Still, you have to admit that we’re at a rather odd juncture. In theory, we know that we’re going to fall in love. In practice, I know nothing about you.” 

Tom pushed a piece of hair out of his eye. “Actually, Ms. Granger, I believe I’m the one who knows nothing about you. You know plenty about me. My job. My politics. My NEWTs. They’re all public.” 

“Well, Mr. Riddle,” Hermione said, leaning in, “it seems we need to become better acquainted.” 

Tom took a swig of whiskey, a feral look in his eyes. Then he began. 

He bombarded her with questions throughout all three courses. Bellatrix was right; his curiosity was endless. 

So, however, was Hermione’s. 

She learned that his favorite season was winter, his favorite holiday was New Year’s, and his favorite subject was potions. After much prodding, he admitted that he’d received four deletions during his time at Hogwarts. He was shocked to learn that Hermione had served 15. 

When dessert was a distant memory, Tom stood. “I should sleep. I have meetings in the morning tomorrow.” 

Hermione stood, fuller than she’d ever been. “Don’t worry about me. Bellatrix promised to show me the ropes.” 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a subtle gesture of annoyance. “She hasn’t bothered you, has she?” 

“Not at all,” Hermione lied. 

Tom looked unconvinced. 

“She’s doing me a favor, really. I need help figuring out some clothing issues. I don’t want to look like a fool in public.” 

“As long as that’s all it is,” Tom said. He didn’t look happy about it. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to become something you’re not. I signed up to be a public figure. You didn’t.” 

Hermione grabbed another piece of chocolate. “I’m fine.” 

“Goodnight, then,” Tom said. 

“Goodnight,” Hermione replied.

They walked back to the library together, parting ways at the grand doors. 

*

Bellatrix woke her at an ungodly hour. She marched into Hermione’s room, followed by Pansy Parkinson, of all people. “George will be here in 10 minutes. Get up!” 

Hermione didn’t know who George was, but she’d faced enough of Bellatrix’s wrath for one week. She took the fastest shower of her life. When she walked back into her room, wearing nothing but a robe, there was a man talking to Bellatrix. 

He shrieked when he saw her. “Bella, zhe is beautiful!” 

French, Hermione surmised. 

“Her wardrobe isn’t,” Pansy muttered. 

She wasn’t quiet enough. George heard her. “Zhen, we must fix it. Tell me, what is your style?” 

Hermione blinked. “My style?” 

Bellatrix sighed. “Sit down, Hermione.” She pulled a few photos out of a briefcase and spread them out on a table. 

“There are three types of political Matches that the public will accept.” Bellatrix tapped the first photo. “This is the housewife. She wears dowdy dresses. She’s beloved by the public as a maternal figure.” 

She pointed to the second. “This is the younger woman. She flaunts tradition. No one likes her, but they want to be her. She gets away with it.” 

“And this,” Bellatrix finished, “is the society lady. She walks the line between dowdy and revealing. She cares about politics. She doesn’t bother with designer brands, but she’s always impeccably put together. Most relevant to you, she has a life of her own.” 

“We know Granger’s choice, then,” Pansy said. 

Hermione tensed at the dismissiveness in her tone. “Pansy, why are you here?”

Bellatrix laughed. “Did I forget? Hermione, Pansy is going to handle your schedule the same way I handle Tom’s.” 

Hermione gaped. “And you’re okay with this?” She asked Pansy. 

“I wish it wasn’t you,” Pansy admitted. “But I want this job.” 

“How do I know you won’t sabotage me?” 

Pansy checked her nails in a failed show of nonchalance. “If you fail, I look bad. Can you at least trust me to be self-interested?” 

“Fine,” Hermione said. 

Bellatrix cleared her throat. “Now that that’s settled. Number three, Hermione?” 

“It’s the best option,” she agreed. 

George began to take her measurements, muttering about different collections he needed to buy from. “Bellatrix,” Hermione said, “I can’t pay for all this.” 

Pansy scoffed. “It comes out of the government’s budget.” 

Bellatrix stood to face Hermione. “That does raise an interesting question, though. What  _ are  _ you planning to do for work?” 

George blocked Hermione’s view. Both women rotated awkwardly, trying to maintain eye contact. “I waited until after the ceremony to send in my applications --” 

“As you should,” Pansy interrupted. “No self-respecting person applies before they know who their Match is. What if Tom lived in Paris?” 

Hermione glared at her. “I’m well aware of that. It’s why I waited.” 

“What jobs, Hermione?” Bellatrix asked again. 

“They vary. I applied for a few Ministry positions. I don’t know how viable those are now, but I wasn’t attached to them. I’m hoping to win a place in an advanced training program for Ancient Runes students. I would work mostly from home, with occasional trips to historic sights.” 

“What’s your end goal?” Bellatrix asked. 

“There are entire magical texts we can’t read because they’re written in dead languages. If I could cross apply known translations, I might be able to find hundreds of forgotten spells. The medical applications alone --” 

Bellatrix held up a hand. “Enough. I can work with that.” 

“If I get it,” Hermione reminded her. 

Pansy and Bellatrix shared a look. 

“You’re smart,” Pansy said. “You’ll get it.” 

Only she could make a compliment feel like a curse. 

“Either way, I’ll know in a few days. The review process is short.” Hermione eyed George. “Are we done?”

He grinned at her, chubby cheeks shining. “We are. I’ll have zhe appropriate wardrobe delivered tomorrow.” 

Once George left, Hermione pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. “Don’t look at me like that,” she told Bellatrix. “I’m only going to the library.” 

It was beautiful. Old, iron railings gilded the edges of the room. It was clearly well-used, too. Books covered every surface of the room. 

The room wasn’t bright. There was one window in the back. It was large, but a curtain covered most of it. Hermione browsed, picking up various texts that -- she was certain-- were hundreds of years old. 

She skipped lunch. 

Around dinnertime, Tom appeared. Hermione, who had not been expecting company, jumped at the sound of his voice. “Having fun?” 

Hermione looked up from her book, a dusty documentary of Elfric the Eager’s rebellion against wizarding norms. “Believe it or not, I am.” 

“I believe it,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “Hanson does an extraordinary job of bringing the period to life.” 

Hermione gestured to the book. “You’ve read this?” 

“I’ve read all of Hanson’s books.” 

She blinked. “I’m not used to being around other readers.” 

“Clearly not,” he responded. His sneer left no questions about his opinion of people who didn’t read. 

Hermione stood. “We should head to dinner.” 

Tom leaned back, a picture of ease. “Should we? Or should we stay here and read while we eat?” 

“No, no. We’ve agreed to get to know each other. I’m not going to make you--” 

“Would you like to finish your book?” 

Hermione ran her hand along the cover. “I would. But--” 

He cut her off again. “No buts. If you want to stay here, we’ll stay here. I’m halfway through Bathilda Bagshot’s latest work. I’ll be grateful for the chance to finish it.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, uncertainty seeping into her posture.

Tom pointed at her armchair. “Sit. Read. I’ll have someone bring dinner to us, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, tucking her feet under her. The chair was awfully comfortable. The library was warm and lovely, too. 

“Next time, you tell me what you want. We don’t have to rush this process. Neither of us are particularly social. If we try to spend every waking moment together, we’ll lose our minds. Let’s work. Let’s read.”

Throughout the speech, Tom didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t gesture frantically. When he finished, not a hair was out of place. Hermione still felt the intensity behind his words as surely as if he’d screamed them. 

“It’s a deal,” she said. 

Tom smiled. It wasn’t like his smiles at graduation, which were too wide and too bright. His lips just quirked up slightly on one side. If Hermione hadn’t been paying attention, she would’ve missed it. 

She was paying attention, though, so the sight of Tom’s happiness reassured her. She opened her book. 

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! As usual, let me say that it makes me SO happy to hear that so many of you are enjoying this story. 
> 
> Quickly, let me just address a common thread from a few comments: if Hermione seems OOC to you, PLEASE don't worry yet. 
> 
> In this universe, there hasn't been a war. She hasn't had to toughen up at a young age, so I am portraying her as somewhat more naive, etc. However, I promise that this whole work is about her development as a person. The BAMF Hermione tag is not a lie! Neither is Dark Hermione (or Dark Tom, for that matter). We're just not there yet. The first few chapters are relationship focused because the Match is a huge deal culturally, but the plot is coming. 
> 
> Anywho, just wanted to ease some people's worries. To everyone who's reading my work and helping me grow xoxoxo!

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE FIRSTS**

After a few days, Hermione had a sense of Tom. He was a creature of habit, who woke with the sun, paused for dinner, and worked through the night. She was certain he couldn't sleep for more than four hours a day. In fact, she was beginning to suspect he didn’t sleep at all. 

Most frustratingly, he kept an even temper. Hermione saw hints of his emotions. She felt whispers of them through the Bond. But she never, ever, saw them. 

That was how, when she walked in on Tom and Bellatrix arguing, Hermione knew that something was wrong. Tom was gripping his quill so tightly that she was shocked it hadn’t snapped in half. His teeth were ground together.

Bellatrix was gesturing wildly. 

When Tom caught sight of Hermione, he stood. He slammed his hands on the desk, sending papers flying. “Enough, Bellatrix.” He wasn’t loud, but he made it clear the conversation was over. 

“She has a right to know, Tom.” Bellatrix’s arms were crossed. 

Hermione bent to pick up the displaced papers. “Know what?” 

“I’m not saying anything else. It’s your choice, Minister.” With that, Bellatrix left. 

Hermione took a seat across from Tom. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I once kept the existence of a dragon secret for three months. I’m a vault.” 

“You kept a dragon secret?” Tom asked, amused. “Why?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not important. And you’re changing the subject.”   
“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.” 

Hermione grabbed his hand. Very slowly, he dropped his gaze to her touch. She released him, embarrassed.

He looked back at her. “If you must know, it’s about The Prophet.” 

“The Prophet,” Hermione repeated. “What trouble could they possibly be causing?”

“They’re demanding we give an interview.” 

Hermione laughed. “You can’t be serious. You and Bellatrix were that worked up over an interview?” 

“I don’t take it lightly,” he said. “You have a right to privacy, no matter what those scavengers think.” 

Hermione tidied the papers, irritated by their disorganization. “I assume the reporters are arguing that they have a right to know me. Match of the Minister and all that. It’s fine, Tom. I don’t care.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“If my absence is going to hurt you, I’ll give an interview.” 

She paused. “I’m going to have my own life, you know. I’m accommodating Bellatrix’s organization and interviews and general insanity because I believe in the Binding. But I’m never going to be a housewife.” 

Tom smiled. “I’ve never wanted a housewife.” 

“Clothes, privacy. None of that matters to me. I care about my work. I care about making us work. As long as I have that, I’m going to be fine. So don’t worry about asking me for interviews. If you need me to do them, I will.” 

Tom picked up his quill. “In that case, I’ll write to the paper.” 

“You do that,” Hermione said. “I’m going to track down Pansy.” 

*

It took some doing, but Hermione found Pansy’s address. She lived in a fashionable apartment building, which didn’t surprise Hermione in the least. 

“What?” 

“Ever the delight, Pansy.” Hermione stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” 

Pansy snorted. “No, you don’t. You hate girly things. Why are you here, Granger?” 

“I was rather under the impression you were responsible for me.” 

“I’m responsible for you when there’s an event on the horizon,” Pansy corrected. “Seeing as there’s not one-- ” 

Hermione toyed with a tassel on the wall. “I have to be at The Prophet in an hour. Tom and I are doing a piece.” 

A string of profanities escaped Pansy’s mouth, a few of which Hermione had never heard. “Pansy, are you cursing in French?” 

“Of course I’m cursing in French, you idiot. I’m civilized.” She grabbed a coat and her purse. “Hop to, Granger. We’re going to need Oliver.” 

Hermione didn’t know who Oliver was. She was pleased to discover that he was a lovely man and, according to Pansy, the best hair stylist in England. 

She took a seat while Pansy spit out orders. “There’s no time, so I need you to neaten her curls. There’s no time to iron them out. I’ll deal with beauty charms while you’re doing that. Oh, and if you don't mind…” 

Hermione had zoned out entirely by the end of Pansy’s third sentence. 

Exactly fifty two minutes later, she was done. 

“Ready to see?” Oliver asked. 

He didn’t wait for confirmation before spinning Hermione around. 

She breathed a sigh of relief. She looked like herself, only neater. Her curls were shiny and organized. She was sporting only a few hints of makeup. 

She looked at her clothing. She wore black pants and a black suit jacket. A white blouse provided contrast. It was simple, but beautiful.

“It’s perfect,” Hermione said. She was shocked to find that she meant it. 

Tom was waiting for her at home. Due to the short notice, they’d decided to shoot in his office. Security was easier that way. 

The photos were done in less than an hour. They were modest. No touching, no lounging on top of one another. Tom sat in his chair; Hermione leaned on the edge of his desk. 

For the interview, they moved to the parlor. Pansy and Bellatrix hovered a few feet away. They both looked prepared to commit murder if the reporter asked an unpleasent question. 

He began well. “Minister Riddle, Ms. Granger. It’s an honor to be here with you today.” 

“I’m pleased to have a chance to show Hermione off,” Tom replied. 

“Excellent, excellent. Now, I have a few questions for both of you. Let’s start with you, Hermione. What are your thoughts on this process?” 

She dug a nail into her palm, trying to calm herself. “It was a shock, initially. But Tom is a perfect gentleman. He’s making it easy to adjust.” 

The reporter nodded. “I’m sure everyone will be happy to hear it. Now, you’re quite accomplished yourself, aren’t you? Top of your class, star pupil. What’s next for Hermione Granger?” 

“I’ll be working.” There might have been too much force behind her words, because Hermione saw Pany hold her hands up. 

“Gentle,” she mouthed. 

Hermione tried again. “I’m young. There’s a lot I want to learn. As Tom and I have discussed, I’m not really housewife material. I can’t cook. I’m useless at household charms. So I’ll be earning my keep.” 

She, Tom, and the reporter shared a forced laugh. 

“Tom, let’s turn to you,” he said. “Are you worried about the effect your position might have on Hermione?” 

He didn’t blink. “I expect that, as long as my political rivals maintain a sense of decency, she’ll be fine.” 

“You’re a popular minister, but some fringe factions are dedicated to your removal. Do you think being Matched will help the public trust you?” 

Tom remained stalwart. “I would hope that putting money back in people’s pockets is what makes them trust me, as opposed to a romantic entanglement.” 

Hermione watched the reporter scramble. It was clear Tom wasn’t giving up anything. He was ice, unmoving and unmovable. 

“Well, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that the two of you are sharing a home. Has your relationship developed quickly?” 

Hermione started to answer, but Tom nudged her foot. She held her tongue. 

“I waited years for Hermione. I’ll wait a few more months to do this right.” 

Sensing real feeling behind his words, Hermione turned to look at Tom. He was staring back at her, eyes full of sensation. The camera clicked. 

Tomorrow, that photo that would grace the front page. Hermione and Tom, both dressed in black, staring at each other. The ones from his office followed, in smaller print, but the image of their interaction dominated. It was impossible to look away. They formed their own gravity, their combined power sucking in every gaze. 

Hermione smiled at the reporter. “It was lovely meeting you.” 

He shook her hand. “A pleasure, Hermione. See you soon, Minister.” 

With that, he took his leave. Pansy and Bellatrix left shortly thereafter. 

Tom watched them go. “I’m surprised you agreed to Pansy,” he eventually said. 

Hermione shrugged. “School’s over. It’s time to let old rivalries die. Besides, as cruel, vain, and self-assured as Pansy is, she’s honest. I trust her to tell me if I’m screwing up.” 

“Brutal honesty is a common theme with our assistants,” Tom said. “Leave it to Bella to find an exact copy of herself.”

An owl flew into the window. It carried a single parchment, which bore the symbol of the Academy of Runic Study. “Oh,” Hermione whispered. 

“Job offer?” Tom asked. 

“Hopefully,” Hermione responded. She untied the letter from the owl’s leg, being careful not to open it. She toyed with the seal. “I’m nervous.” 

Tom rolled his eyes. The gesture didn’t suit him. Informality looked out of place on his severe features. “You’ll be fine. Open it.” 

Hermione slid her finger under the seal, wincing when she felt it break. She took a deep breath and folded open the page. 

_ Ms. Granger,  _

_ We are pleased to offer you a place in our advanced training, beginning July 12. After two years of study, we expect to declare you a master of the subject. Details are enclosed.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ The Academy of Runic Study.  _

Tom read it over her shoulder. “I told you.” 

“I can’t believe it. The acceptance rate is terribly low! And I bungled at least one translation on the admissions exam.” 

Tom refused to engage in her paranoia. “Get your jacket.” 

“What?” Hermione looked up from her acceptance letter, confused. 

“Get your coat,” he repeated. “We’re going to celebrate.” 

Hermione shrugged her jacket on. “Since when?”

“Since now.” Tom grabbed a handful of floo powder. “It’s time I took you on a real date.” 

Hermione didn’t have time to blush before the world began to spin. They materialized in a French restaurant she recognized from Witch Weekly. “Tom.” 

He didn’t turn. 

“Tom,” she hissed again, louder this time. “This place is ridiculously fancy.” 

He glanced at her, allowing his eyes to roam up and down her body. “You’re dressed for it. I see no issue.” 

The  maître d' spotted them and scuttled over. “Mr. Riddle. Ms. Granger. Allow me to take you upstairs. I assume you’d prefer a private room.” 

Their table was hidden from view, but they could see down into the main dining room. Hermione recognized several dignitaries and notable politicians. 

“Are you sure the room can contain all those egos?” 

Tom studied the room below. “It can’t. Do you see those two, at the center table?” He pointed to two men, engaged in furious conversation. Both were gesticulating wildly. “I bet you two galleons that they’ll finish the night with a fight.” 

Hermione took a sip of wine. “I’m not taking that bet.” 

“Why not?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Because you’re not the betting type. I suspect you have insider information.” 

“I do. Would you like to know what it is?” 

She nodded. Tom leaned in to whisper, his breath grazing her cheek. “The blonde is sleeping with the brunette’s Match.”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice three times as loud as his whisper. “That’s terrible.” 

Tom picked up his knife, his expression full of what Hermione could only describe as malevolent delight. “It’s true.”

The first course came. They paused their conversation accordingly, busying themselves with their napkins and silverware. Once the waiter had left, Tom spoke again. “I’ve told you a secret. Do I get a secret in return?” 

Hermione bit her lip, trying to think of something sufficiently interesting to say that didn’t cross the fine line between dramatic and embarrassing. “Hmm.” She delayed by taking another, larger sip of wine. 

“Here’s something,” she said. “You know how I hate Divination?” 

He nodded. He’d been subjected to a rant about the topic yesterday afternoon in the library. 

“When I was in third year, I quit the subject in the middle of a class. Flat out got up and left. I never told anyone, but I didn't let it go. I cursed the old bat who taught it.” 

Tom set down his knife and fork, giving Hermione his full attention. “You cursed her?” 

“Believe it or not, there’s a whole subset of arithmancy dedicated to curses. I used one to make sure that, every time she drinks a cup of tea, her tea leaves will settle into the shape of a grim.”

Hermione braced herself for his reaction. She expected a bit of horror mixed with humor. What she got, though, was perhaps the most genuine laugh she’d ever heard from Tom. 

“The grim,” he said, still laughing. “I love the irony.” 

As dinner went on, Hermione managed to forget this was her first date with her soulmate. Tom was an expert at making people feel at ease; all of his charm was on display. 

He was right for her. Hermione still wanted a traditional courtship, with dates and propriety, but she believed she could spend the rest of her life talking to Tom. 

After flooing home, they shared a walk to the library doors. 

“Goodnight,” she said. 

Tom studied her. Then he closed the distance between them. 

Hermione’s back hit the wall with an aggressive thud. In an instant, Tom’s mouth was on hers. He was kissing her and she was kissing him and she couldn’t breathe, because her whole body was on fire. 

Hermione wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. She was going to burn alive. She was going to drown in the depths of her desire.

When she went to pull him closer, Tom disentangled himself. His hair was tousled, his top unbuttoned. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His mouth remained a few inches from hers. Hermione couldn’t think.

“I couldn’t help myself.” 

Hermione shook her head. “I didn’t mind.” 

“I want to do this right.” His hand rested on the wall, trapping Hermione in place.”Let’s take our time.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Hermione walked back to her room, the moment replaying in her mind. She could sense their Bond. The magic between them was alive. 

*

The next day, Hermione woke to the sound of an owl pecking at her window. She stumbled over, still groggy and tired.

It was the paper. She dropped a sickle in the owl’s pouch, heart starting to race. 

_ Picture Perfect: The Minister’s Match _

_ Minister Tom Riddle is famous for many things. He overhauled wizarding law and was reelected by the largest majority in history. Throughout his career, however, one question has followed him. Why is he Unmatched?  _

_ Well, your favorite reporter is pleased to say that Minister Riddle is single no more. As it turns out, there was no great conspiracy. Ms. Hermione Granger was simply underage.  _

_ Under different circumstances, their age difference might raise questions. However, the two of them are clearly made for each other. Like Mr. Riddle, Hermione graduated at the top of her class from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She is a perfect intellectual match for our Minister. _

_ When asked if she planned to work while Minister Riddle is in office, Hermione laughed. “ _ _ I’m not really housewife material,” she replied. “I can’t cook. I’m useless at household charms. So I’ll be earning my keep.” _

_ If yours truly isn’t mistaken, her wry humor caused even the Minister to crack a smile.  _

_ That brings us to another, interesting aspect of their relationship. Mr. Riddle has a reputation for being austere and dedicated to his work. Will this be a barrier? The pair don’t seem to think so. Hermione described the Minister as a “perfect gentleman.” _

_ Predictably, Mr. Riddle had little to say about his personal life.  _

_ Does he expect a rise in approval ratings, now that he’s settled down? He contends that he wants people to trust him because he put “money back in [their] pockets,” not because he was Matched.  _

_ Nonetheless, towards the end of the interview, Mr. Riddle couldn’t resist a sentimental touch. “I waited years for Hermione,” he said. “I’ll wait a few more months to do this right.”  _

_ It seems our dark and dangerous Minister may have been tamed at last.  _

Dark and dangerous? Hermione scoffed. Tom wasn’t dangerous. Those were political rumors. 

Although. Hermione rubbed her back. She recalled hitting the wall with force. Perhaps there were sides to him she wasn’t aware of. 

No matter. That was what a lifetime was for. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sooooo grateful for all of the love and support. Thank you all for motivating me to keep writing this story. Things are heating up a bit, finally! Hope you enjoy and that everyone is staying healthy and safe. XOXOXO

**CHAPTER FIVE: THE REUNION**

Harry and Ron were late, as usual. Hermione was beginning to think that they had no respect for her time. She had hundreds of lines of translation to complete by Friday and better things to do than to dally around at cafes. 

As she was getting ready to leave, Harry and Ron materialized. “Sorry we’re late,” Harry said, taking a seat. “Auror training is ridiculous.” 

Ron downed half his water. “I feel like I’ve run a marathon. They made us duel for half an hour before lunch. It’s inhumane.” 

“I believe that’s rather the point,” Hermione said. “Dark wizards aren’t going to worry about humanity in the middle of a duel. 

“Good to see you too,” Ron muttered. “Always a delight.” 

Hermione squinted. “What was that, Ron?”

He made a show of unwrapping his napkin and organizing his silverware. “I didn’t say anything. Must’ve been the wind.” 

“Right,” Harry said, ever the peacekeeper. “How have you been, Hermione?”

She smiled. “I’ve been good. I was accepted into the Ancient Runes program I told you about. It started a few days ago. And Tom and I are getting along fine--” 

“Clearly,” Ron said. He sounded snide. 

Hermione ignored him. “He’s busy with work, but he makes time for us to be together. I honestly couldn’t have asked for more of a gentleman.” 

Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Alright,” Hermione said. “Out with it. You clearly have something on your mind.” She knew it was bad too, because Harry looked dismayed. 

“I don’t have anything on my mind,” Ron countered. “I just find the whole thing a bit suspicious.” 

“You find what suspicious, exactly?” Hermione’s voice was calm. Too calm. 

“You barely know Tom!” Ron exploded. “And now you’ve moved in with him. You look different and, apparently, Pansy Parkinson is working for you?” By the end of his outburst, his face was as red as his hair. 

Hermione clenched her fist. She took a moment to watch the umbrella above them sway, trying to calm herself. “I have moved in with Tom, as is customary for Matches. Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re not sharing a room. As for Pansy, she came highly recommended. What was I going to tell Tom’s assistant? That I hated her because of a house rivalry?”

“Yes!” Ron exclaimed. 

Hermione scoffed. “Right, because that would’ve seemed mature.” 

Sensing a losing battle, Ron doubled down on his earlier points. “What about Tom, though?” 

“What about him?” Hermione wasn’t giving an inch. She was tired of Ron’s inability to accept that a smart, attractive man might be interested in her. 

While Ron sputtered up to a sentence, Harry seized his opportunity to jump in. “I think what Ron is attempting to say is that we’re worried about you.”

Hermione grabbed her purse. “I’m not doing this. When the two of you have come to your senses, you can let me know.” 

Harry grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go. We’re not trying to be assholes.” 

“It’s a natural gift, then, I suppose.” 

“Hermione,” Harry said softly, massaging his temple. “You can’t deny that a certain ugliness follows the Minister. Forgive us for trying to protect you.” 

She sat back down. “I can protect myself. I beat both of you in every exam. As for Tom’s issues, you’re being ridiculous. His politics are noncontroversial to their core. If you’re referring to Minister Crouch’s death, screw off. We all know he didn’t cause it.”

“Pretty convenient timing,” Ron countered. 

“Tom was ahead in the polls when it happened. He gained nothing from Crouch’s death other than ugly accusations by crazy people.” 

A pause. 

“Now,” she said, picking up her menu, “are we eating, or are we not?” 

“I’ll have the salmon,” Ron offered. 

Hermione looked at him. “Sounds good. How are you and Lavender?” 

Ron smiled and, unprompted, launched into a graphic depiction of his sex life. 

*

Tom was waiting for her when she got home. “Busy day?” 

She put down a variety of shopping bags and packages. “It was. I bought all my textbooks and met Harry and Ron for lunch.” 

“And how was that?” Tom asked, doing what Hermione suspected was a remarkable impression of caring. She had, thus far, been unable to explain what endeared the two men to her. In fairness, they were unattractive on paper. 

Hermione thought of Harry and Ron’s critiques of Tom. Of their insinuations. She decided against getting into it. “It was fine,” she said, moving past Tom and onto the staircase. “Dinner at 7?” 

He checked his watch. “Can we push it to 8? Or do you have a set schedule?” 

“I’m a graduate student, Tom. There is no schedule.” 

“See you at 8, then.” He disappeared into his office. 

Hermione was a bit surprised. Tom was a creature of habit, down to his core. He ate at the same time everyday. What could be important enough for him to delay? 

_ Possibly the world, _ Hermione reminded herself. She slammed her door, exasperated that she was letting Ron and Harry’s mistrust of Tom get to her. 

She strode to the mirror. “Tom’s a good man,” she told her reflection. “He reformed the Ministry. He’s the most popular Minister in history, for God’s sake! Don’t let Ron’s insecurities ruin this for you.”

Satisfied, she opened her textbook. 

_ Ancient Runes are a sacred part of magic. Their existence is intertwined with the foundations of the spells we use today. Through the study of runes, witches and wizards are able to transform their relationship with power…  _

It was nice, dry reading. The perfect thing to set her mind at ease. Indeed, the next time she looked at the clock, hours had passed. She made her way downstairs. 

As usual, Tom had beaten her to the dining room. He was looking over a document and underlining various phrases with unforgiving red ink. Hermione was shocked there were any sentences left standing, given the veracity with which he edited. 

“I’d hate to be the one who wrote that,” she said. 

He looked up. “I wish you had written it. I’m confident that your command of the English language is better than this idiot’s.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” she said, unfolding her napkin. 

Tom cleared his throat. “Here’s a particularly brilliant passage: ‘We should try to stop abuses of power because they’re bad. For this reason, we should act.’” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. How did you end up editing this document? I can think of about a million better ways for you to spend your time.” 

“There was a splinching accident in Piccadilly Circus. No less than a hundred muggles witnessed a severed leg appear out of thin air.” 

“I see why you had to delay dinner,” Hermione said.

_ See _ , she thought.  _ Nothing suspicious _ . 

Tom made a noise of agreement. “The Head of the Department of Magical Transportation stopped by to give me a copy of the statement he’s sending The Prophet. Hence the editing.” 

“Is it all that bad?” Hermione asked. 

“It is,” Tom said, crossing out more lines. He sounded pained. “I hope his letter of resignation is a more enjoyable read.” 

There was no kidding in his voice, just a hint of the joyful malevolence Hermione had come to associate with Tom. 

She batted his arm. “You’re awful.” 

He was unaffected. “I suppose I could write a resignation for him. Save us both some time.” 

Hermione couldn’t help it. She laughed. “He  _ is _ rather terrible at his job.” 

Tom looked up from the report. “He failed. He deserves to be fired.”

She knit her brows. It was strange to hear someone’s work so openly condemned. Still, it was nothing the department head didn’t deserve. How hard could it be to write a few reports and obliviate a few muggles? 

The rest of the meal was pleasant. Tom listened to her discuss the beginning of her studies. He asked several questions about how ehwaz’s romantic overtones had been erased over the course of history. 

By the time she dove into a strawberry shortcake, Hermione had forgotten about Harry and Ron. The world narrowed down to be her and Tom, the way it always did when they were together. 

He set down his spoon. 

“Hermione, can I ask you something?” 

Her heart kicked up a notch. “Yes, of course.” 

Tom’s black eyes studied her. “If it’s too soon, you can tell me. I’ll wait as long as you want me to.”

He stopped to gauge her reaction before finishing his thought. 

“I want to be in a relationship with you. Beyond the Bond.”

Hermione, who had been prepared for the worst, couldn’t process what he was saying. She blinked. 

Tom seized the opportunity to elaborate. “I want to know that you truly feel something for me. I want you to choose me. I want--” 

She leaned forward to kiss him. “Enough, Tom,” she whispered. “Yes. I wanted to be sure before I decided, but I know now that you’re what I want.” A tear slipped out the corner of her eye. 

He caressed her face. “My beautiful girl. You’re stunning.” 

Without breaking eye contact, Tom reached into his pocket and set a slender box on the table.

Hermione opened it to find a string of pearls. They shone in the candlelight of the dining room. She gasped. “They’re beautiful.” 

Tom picked them up, gesturing for her to move her hair. He spoke while he clasped the necklace. “It’s not a proposal. It’s a promise that I am going to make you mine in every possible way someday. Marriage being a part of it.” 

Hermione blushed. The thought of marriage was strange. It was traditional for Bound couples to have a wedding, as a symbol of their acceptance of the Match. Somehow, the muggle custom felt more serious to her than the Binding did. 

Tom’s lips found hers again, cutting off her introspection.

Across the room, someone coughed. 

Tom groaned, disentangling his hand from Hermione’s hair. “Do you know how to knock, Bellatrix?” 

The critique didn’t faze his assistant. “I hope the two of you are practicing safe sex. If Hermione’s going to get pregnant, I’d vastly prefer it happened during an election cycle.” 

Hermione choked on her drink. Tom, who was accustomed to Bellatrix’s peculiar sense of humor, didn’t flinch. 

“Why are you here? I dealt with the splinching incident.”

“There’s been a hiccup.” 

Tom swore, shrugging on his coat. He pointed at Hermione. “We’re not finished. I’d very much like to finish our conversation tomorrow evening.” He drew out the word conversation, weighing it down with implications. 

“I suppose I can fit you into my schedule,” Hermione allowed. 

“Minx.” He looked human in that moment, with messiness to him. 

And then he and Bellatrix were talking about muggle officials and protocol and the softness disappeared. Minister Riddle took hold of him. 

Hermione took a bite of cake. She found his official side had its appeals, too. 

*

Hermione woke later than usual, the result of overindulgence in wine and late-night reading. Sunlight streamed through her curtains. She made her way downstairs to the kitchen and spent a pleasant half hour making French toast. 

She ran into Corban Yaxley on her way back to her room. She recognized him from The Prophet. He was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and one of Tom’s closest allies in the Ministry. 

He stopped when he saw her. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d bothered to change out of her pajamas before she came down for breakfast. 

“Meeting with Tom?” She asked, by way of conversation. 

Yaxley nodded. “Just going over a few things before we both head in for the day. United front and all that.”

He stuck out his hand. “Sorry, I’m being terribly rude. I meant to introduce myself to you when I was here last night, but Tom said you were studying. I’m Corban Yaxley.” 

They shook hands. “Hermione Granger. It’s an honor.”

Yaxley waved off her compliment. “Believe me, my dear, when I say that it’s an honor to meet you. I don’t know what you’re doing to Tom, but keep it up. He’s been an angel lately.” 

Hermione tried to laugh, but couldn’t. She ended up making a rather strangled sound. “I have to send off a paper. Pleased to meet you.”

She didn’t wait for him to tip his hat. She darted upstairs, desperate to get to her room.

Why had Yaxley been at the house? Large splinching accidents were unfortunate, but they were routine. There was no reason the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would need to be a part of the coordinated response team. 

More important, why hadn’t Tom mentioned Yaxley’s presence? It had to be a deliberate omission, given their long conversation about his afternoon work schedule. 

Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath. There were plenty of reasons Tom might have to keep some details of his work from her. 

It was Harry and Ron’s influence, filling her with doubt once again. At that moment, she felt like throwing a punch. Tom was everything she’d ever wanted in a Match. Now, because of some throwaway comments by her friends, she was on edge.

She promised herself that she would forget about it. She wouldn’t ask Tom about Yaxley. She would respect his privacy and trust the man she knew. 

Determined, she picked her textbook up and began to study again.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! I'm really excited that this chapter is done and I cannot WAIT to write the next one. We're finally getting to the plot, people!
> 
> As usual, thank you for reading and reviewing and bookmarking and leaving kudos. Having such engaged, lovely readers is the best thing in the world. I'm so happy to be able to write something that you enjoy.

**CHAPTER SIX: THE INTRODUCTIONS**

Time passed. Hermione focused on her placement exams, refusing to be suspicious of Tom. After some reflection, she’d realized that there were any number of possible explanations for Yaxley’s presence. He was Tom’s right hand man, after all. 

A letter fell into her lap. Hermione’s distraction had prevented her from noticing Tom’s owl flying in. She tore open the seal, petting Kratos with her free hand. 

_ Hermione,  _

_ Any chance you’re free? I could use a favor. I left a folder on my desk. It should be obvious which one; there’s a protection charm on it.  _

_ I don’t want to risk summoning it and Bellatrix is busy. Would you mind dropping it off? I’ve cleared you for visitor access to the Ministry.  _

_ Tom _

Hermione glanced at the clock. It was early; her workload was light. She grabbed a quill and scribbled a quick response. “Tell Tom I’ll see him soon, Kratos.” 

The owl pecked her affectionately in response, then took off. 

Hermione looked in the mirror and sighed. Something told her an old Gryffindor shirt and jeans weren’t going to cut it. She walked over to her closet and slipped on a dress that George had assured her would work for any occasion.  It was tan and long, with a high waistline. 

For good measure, Hermione pulled her hair into what she hoped was an artfully messy bun. Beauty charms were a problem for another day. 

The folder was easy to find. Whatever it was, Tom had warded it to Hell and back. 

She apparated to the Ministry’s visitor entrance. A pleasant voice welcomed her to the phone-booth. “Hello, Ms. Granger. The Minister is expecting you.” 

A badge materialized. “Please wear this as proof of access.” 

Hermione pinned it on. “Of course.” Before she could say thank you, she began to descend into the bowels of the Ministry. 

She stepped out into the massive atrium. It was imposing, with vaulted ceilings and sculptures many times her height. 

Hermione felt eyes on her as she made her way across the room. It was strange, being back. The last time she was there, it was for a job interview. She’d been a nobody. A smart nobody, perhaps, but a nobody nonetheless. 

Now, people were making an effort to get out of her way. They were watching her. 

As Hermione turned to step into the elevator, a giant portrait of Tom caught her eye. There was no levity in his face. His dark eyes, which she loved so dearly, watched over the atrium. He looked confident. He looked powerful. 

Hermione took a deep breath. It was easy to get wrapped up in her new home, with its nightly dinners and chess matches. She often forgot that Tom was an important man. That he was the Minister. 

In fact, Hermione thought as the lift began to move, she didn’t know if she’d ever  _ felt _ Tom’s influence. She’d always known, conceptually, that he was the head of state. Before now, though, the point had never been driven home. 

“Pardon me, dearie, but I expect this is your stop.” 

Hermione blinked. They’d reached Level One. “It is,” she replied. “Thank you.” 

The elevator operator grinned. “I’m glad you’re here, girl. That boy works too hard. Make him take a day off now and then.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Hermione said, lying through her teeth. She was convinced Tom would die before he took a vacation day. 

It satisfied the old woman, though, who let Hermione step out onto a soft, purple carpet. It ran in every direction, all the way to the end of the hallway. She turned around. “Sorry, which way?” 

The woman pointed straight ahead. “Great,” Hermione said. “Thanks.” She took off, walking with purpose. 

Once she knew which direction to go in, Tom’s office was easy to find. A large plaque marked his door. She knocked. 

“Come in,” Bellatrix called.

Hermione entered, waving the file. Bellatrix sighed appreciatively. “Thank God. I don’t know how he forgot it. I would’ve gone myself, but I’ve been in meetings all day.” 

She checked the clock. “Shit. I have another now. Tom will be back in a minute. Do you mind?”

Hermione took a seat. “Not at all. I never go anywhere without a book.” 

Bellatrix muttered something about bibliophiles deserving each other. Hermione didn’t catch it, but she decided not to ask. 

“I paged him,” Bellatrix informed her. Then she was gone. 

Hermione relaxed and took in the office. It was a pleasant shade of green. A nod, she suspected, to Slytherin House. Bellatrix’s workspace was neat.

An imposing black door dominated the back wall, connecting Tom’s office to the entry area. Hermione decided it was intrusive to investigate further and settled into the seating area. 

She heard Tom before she saw him. He was firing off a list of instructions. “Lestrange, I need to hear from the German Minister by 4:00. Dolohov, deal with The Prophet. I don’t want them to run anything about the loan program until it passes. Yaxley--” 

By then, they’d reached the office. Tom burst in, accompanied by a variety of Department Heads and bureaucrats. He cut himself off when he saw Hermione. 

She shook the folder. “Brought you something.” 

He brushed a kiss against her cheek. “Thank you.”

She waved off the compliment. “It’s nothing. Are you going to introduce me?” 

Tom turned to face his subordinates. “Brown, Williams, Taylor. That fool,” he said, pointing at a tall blonde, “is Dolohov. He’s the reason I missed dinner last night. Behind him is Lestange, Bellatrix’s Match.” 

Hermione tried and failed to hide her surprise. She’d never stopped to wonder who Bellatrix’s Match might be. 

Tom gestured to the last man. “And this--” 

“Is Yaxley,” Hermione finished for him. “We’ve met.” 

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“I ran into her at the Mansion one day,” Yaxley supplied. 

“Well, pleased to meet you all,” Hermione said. “I should let Tom get back to work.” 

He offered her a hand. “It’s going to be a late night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Actually, about tomorrow. It’s Ginny’s birthday. I was hoping you could make it to the celebration.” 

Tom gave her a look. A girl’s seventeenth birthday party was clearly not his idea of a good time. “You owe me a favor,” she reminded him. 

“Fine,” he bit out. 

She grinned. “Enjoy your late night. How many of these poor men are you making stay with you?” 

“All of them.” The assembled officials groaned. This was the first they were hearing of it. 

Hermione stood. “You’re a cruel man, Riddle. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

After she left the office, she heard laughter. “Merlin, Tom. She keeps you in line, doesn’t she?” The rest of the conversation was lost. She was too far away to hear. 

When Hermione got back to the house, she couldn't concentrate. Her studies held none of their usual appeal. With a sigh, she got up and walked to the kitchen. 

She rolled her sleeves up and gathered ingredients. An hour later, she was covered in flour. Dough littered the floor. Still, she’d made a pie and, in her opinion, it looked good. 

“Kratos,” she called. “Can you do me a favor?” 

The bird flew into the kitchen. At the sight of the pie, he looked dubious. “Please,” Hermione begged. He reluctantly allowed her to box it up and attach it to him. 

_ Tom,  _ she scrawled on the box.  _ I’m certain you’re going to skip dinner, so I’ve provided dessert. Remember: sharing is caring.  _

An hour later, a tired Kratos brought her a note back. 

_ You’ll be pleased to know that you saved me from certain insurrection. See you tomorrow.  _

*

Tom met her downstairs. Hermione took in every inch of his body which, for once, was on display. “Is this appropriate?” He deadpanned. “It’s been awhile since I attended a birthday party.” 

He was wearing a white button down with rolled up sleeves and an unbuttoned collar. She swallowed. Hard. “It’s appropriate. It’s effect on me, though, is entirely inappropriate.” 

“Oh?” 

She stepped away from him, trying to escape his heated gaze. “Tom, stop. If you keep looking at me, I’m going to lose my mind. Worse yet, I’ll ruin the entire progression of our relationship. 

“You’re hardly being fair to me yourself,” he countered. “That skirt is about three inches shy of decent.” 

She blushed. “Right. We’re leaving, before we miss the party.” Tom didn’t appear pleased, but he grabbed the Portkey. Seconds later, they both tumbled down a hill by the Burrow. 

Hermione spit out a leaf of grass. “I hate that hill.” 

Tom helped her up. “I actually think the grass stains add to your outfit.” She glared at him, casting a quick  scourgify. The green marks disappeared. 

“Hermione!” Ginny called. She ran over to them, tackling Hermione onto the grass. She looked down at her dress. Grass stains, again. Tom laughed. 

“Don’t you dare, Tom Riddle,” Hermione said. He made a show of feigning seriousness. 

Ginny turned to Tom, recalling he was there for the first time. “Pleasure to see you, sir.” 

“Just Tom,” he insisted. 

She shrugged. “If you say so. I hope you know how to play Quidditch, because my team is a man down.” 

“Ginny,” Hermione chastised. “I doubt Tom wants to join.” 

“That’s too bad,” her friend replied, clearly unfazed by the fact that she was ordering the Minister to play on her pick-up Quidditch team. 

Tom squeezed Hermione’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I was quite the athlete, back in my day. It’ll be nice to get back on the wagon.” When he noticed his Match looking at him like he’d just grown a third eye, he threw his arm around her. 

“You’re the one who wanted me to blend in.”

The trio made their way down the hill. “We’re sitting down to eat,” Ginny told them. “Grab a chair wherever you can.” 

After many cheerful hellos, Tom and Hermione took over the end of the table. There was an empty seat across from them that, to Hermione’s shock, Albus Dumbledore settled into.

“Headmaster!” She exclaimed. 

He studied her above his glasses. “Ms. Granger, a delight as always..” 

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Hermione said.

“The Weasleys are old friends.” He paused. “Hello, Tom.” 

“Albus,” Tom replied. Hermoine thought his tone sounded curt, but she didn’t have time to reflect on the interaction. Fred and Geroge set off a variety of firecrackers. Harry dove across the table to catch a wandering Snitch, upending a water pitcher in the process. 

The whole time, Hermione worried that Tom was going to get up and leave. He was a dignified person. He wore suits and went to international summits. He didn’t do backyard picnics. 

“Hermione,” he whispered. “You can stop worrying. These are your friends. I’m happy to get to know them.” At his words, she relaxed into him. 

Once the plates had been cleared, Quidditch started. Hermione opted to watch from the sidelines, along with the older adults. Again, Dumbledore sat beside her. 

“Ms. Granger,” he began. “I wonder if we might speak.” 

She tore her eyes away from Tom. He was playing seeker. “Yes, Headmaster?” 

He grasped her hand. “To be frank, I am not pleased with your Match.” 

Hermione was shocked into silence. He continued. “I promised myself that, when Tom was Bound, I would walk the hard path. I would protect the poor girl, even if it meant political ridicule.”

She blinked. “Professor, what are you talking about? I’m not in danger.” 

He inhaled. “I wish we could’ve had this conversation sooner. I expected you to be at the Burrow after graduation. I have to hand it to him. Moving you to the Minister’s Mansion was clever.” 

“What do you mean by danger?” Hermione’s words were short, clipped. She could feel her temper rising. 

Dumbledore frowned. “Tom Riddle is a bully and Dark Wizard. He murdered Barty Crouch to ensure his election. He tortures, mains, and kills to maintain his power.”

Hermione’s fingers curled into a first. “And you have proof of this?” 

“There is no proof, my dear. He’s much much too smart for that.” 

She stood. “You know what I think, Professor? I think that you’re an ambitious old man who sees Tom as a threat to his reputation as the greatest living wizard.” 

Dumbledore attempted to speak, but Hermione cut him off. “Shame on you. You’re a teacher. Tom was your student, once. How dare you dredge up accusations that have been disproved?”

She stormed off. Dumbledore watched her go, sadness heavy on his face. 

“Tom,” she yelled. He landed across from her. “Get your things. We’re leaving.” 

To his credit, her Match didn’t ask questions. He thanked Molly for her hospitality, dropped his card on the gift table, and followed Hermione out. “The Portkeys won’t reactivate until midnight,” he reminded her. 

“Shit,” she said. “I forgot.” 

He studied her face. He must have sensed despair in her expression, because he took off his shoe and enchanted it. “This will leave now.” 

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thank you.” 

Tom held out the Portkey. “What’s a bit of illegal magic, in the grand scheme of things?” 

Hermione started to la ugh, but as soon as she opened her mouth, she began to cry. When they landed in their living room, Tom’s brows were knit together. “Hermione, what happened? Do you need a doctor?” 

“No. I do need a drink, though.” 

Wordlessly, he summoned a bottle of firewhisky. “Will you tell me what happened?” 

She downed a shot, studied the bottle, and downed a second. “Dumbledore is an ass, that’s what happened.” 

Tom stilled. “What did he say?” 

Hermione pointed at Tom. “He accused you of murder, mostly.” 

“This is about Crouch, isn’t it?”

It was strange to hear Tom utter Crouch’s name. The death of his predecessor haunted his political career. The independent body that had investigated the potential crime exonerated Tom in every possible way. Still, the stain lingered. 

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “It’s about Crouch.” 

He gestured to the couch. She followed his lead. “I was hoping to put off this conversation, but it looks like the fool has robbed me of that.” 

Hermione grabbed his hand. “I trust you.” 

“I know you do,” he said. “You left with me, didn’t you? But I want to explain, before this hint of doubt grows.” 

He inhaled sharply. 

“Because I’m an orphan, Dumbledore delivered my Hogwarts letter. When he arrived, I was thrilled. I’d been bullied and abused. I was desperate to leave.” He cut off, clenching his jaw. 

“Dumbledore saw a darkness in me. He assumed, because I fought with the other children, that I was a dark wizard. Nothing I did could convince him otherwise. Not saving the school, not becoming Minister. When Barty Crouch died, his saw his opportunity to tear me down.” 

Understanding dawned on Hermione. “He’s the one who started the rumors.” 

Tom nodded. Hermione pulled him close, kissing him on the forehead. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe him.” 

“When I saw him talking to you, I thought he’d convince you to leave.” 

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you, Tom Riddle. Not now, not ever.” 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for... Just kidding. But in all seriousness, this is a pretty spicy chapter!
> 
> Thank you for all of the love on this story. I'm so happy to finally be at this chapter! Your support means the world & I feel very lucky to have it. 
> 
> Just a heads up: I'm hoping to update tomorrow, but I have an exam, so the next update may not be until Wednesday. Hopefully not, though.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: THE SHIFT**

Doubt is a dangerous seed. Once planted, it colors every interaction, every touch. 

Hermione didn’t believe Albus Dumbledore. She didn’t. During her Hogwarts days, she’d always been suspicious of his favoritism. He viewed morality as black and white, leaving no room for grey areas. 

Besides, she’d vowed to love Tom. To trust him. 

And she did. She didn’t believe that Tom was a dark wizard. Ever since Ginny’s birthday, though, she’d been curious.

For the first time, she wondered what Tom was up to when he stayed late at the office. She thought about why Yaxley and Dolohov’s owls were constantly in the owlery. 

Tom wasn’t evil. Hermione knew that. 

Her conversations with Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore were just making her aware of how much of his life was a mystery. 

*

“Ow,” Hermione muttered, trying her best not to wince. 

The dressmaker was unfazed. She continued to pin fabric around Hermione’s waist. “Deal with it, Granger,” Pansy whispered. “She’s the best clothier in London.” 

“But not the whole world?” Hermione countered. “I thought you cared about me, Pansy.” 

Her old rival rolled her eyes. “With an attitude like that, you’re lucky I’m not sending you to this ball in a plastic bag.” 

“Bellatrix would kill you,” Hermione retorted. 

The dressmaker sighed. “Girls! I need silence. Absolute. Silence. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Williams,” they said in unison. Pansy retreated to Hermione’s desk, where she fiddled with the jewelry that she’d selected. Hermione turned her attention to the mirror, taking in her gown. 

It was beautiful. She couldn’t deny that. 

She’d to wear green, mostly because she wanted to watch Tom react to seeing her in his color. So far, they hadn’t done more than kiss. She was hoping that tonight, with the help of a revealing dress, they would. 

It was a special day, after all. She’d never attended a Summer Gala before, let alone hosted one. It was the Ministry’s biggest event of the year: a grand ball to celebrate the end of the season. 

Since Tom’s election, the gala had been held in various museums and venues. Tonight, for the first time, it was returning to the Minister's Mansion. 

The weight of expectations settled in. Hermione fiddled with her pearls, nervous about being done in time. “Are you almost finished, Mrs. Williams?” 

The old woman made an indistinguishable noise and waved her wand. Hermione gasped as fabric tightened around her waist. The pins fell to the floor and she was left with a perfect dress.

“Thank you,” she breathed. 

Mrs. Williams gathered her things and left. 

Hermione turned to Pansy, enjoying the sensation of her dress twirling. “She’s not much of a talker.” 

Pansy looked at the dress. “Turn.” 

Hermione obliged. Pansy ran her wand over the back of the gown, smoothing the fabric out. “I’m willing to forgive her lack of conversational ability, given the miracle she just worked.”

“Far enough,” Hermione said. She couldn’t stop staring at herself. 

Pansy tapped her nails on the desk. “Look, Granger.” 

Sensing urgency in her stylist’s voice, Hermione stepped towards her. 

“I know we’re not friends,” Pansy said. “I know I was awful to you at Hogwarts. I wish things had been different.” 

“Pansy, are you apologizing?” Hermione asked, incredulous. 

The girl shook her head. “Obviously not, you idiot. I’m just saying I wish that things went differently for you at school.” 

“You  _ are _ apologizing,” Hermione deduced. She fiddled with the neckline of her gown. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I wrote you off as stupid because you liked girly things and slept around. I’m not proud of it, as a woman.” 

They stared at each other for one, infinite moment. 

Hermione stuck out her hand. It seemed the only reasonable thing to do. “You’re good at what you do, Pansy. I want you on my side for the long haul.” 

Pansy shook it. 

A knock on the door broke the strange energy in the air. The two women stepped apart, as if proximity was a reminder of the strange truce that had just occurred. 

Deep down, Hermione suspected they were both pleased. Letting go of their foolish rivalry felt like the mature thing to do. 

Pansy opened the door. Oliver danced into the room, arms full of various beauty products. He took one look at Hermione and grinned. “Tonight, we work.”

Hermione took a seat at her vanity. It was going to be a long hour. 

She was wrong. It was a long hour and a half. Still, when she saw her reflection for the first time, it was worth it. Her hair hung in perfect ringlets. Her lips were a bright shade of red. Her eyes were framed by green shadow, making them look large and doelike. 

“Thank you, Oliver.” 

He hummed. “Pleased as always, pleased as always. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find some champagne.”

Pansy handed Hermione the earrings. “We’re late.” 

They were diamonds. Hermione put them in, slipped on her heels, and followed Pansy out the door. 

Tom was waiting at the bottom of the stairwell. His suit was, to no one’s surprise, black. Bellatrix had convinced him to wear a green tie. It was the emerald color as Hermione’s dress. 

It wasn’t the dramatic reaction that you see in the movies. Tom didn’t cry when he caught sight of her. He watched her take every step with a hungry look in his eye, though, and that was enough. 

“I think green is your color,” he said. “The Sorting Hat made a mistake.” 

Hermione took his outstretched hand. “The Sorting Hat doesn’t make mistakes.” 

Bellatrix entered the foyer. “Places, people. Guests are going to start arriving in three, two, open the door.” 

Lestrange was the first one through the door. He shook Tom’s hand and headed into the ballroom. Bellatrix followed. 

“I don’t understand that couple,” Hermione whispered. 

Tom watched them leave. “They’re both insane, but they appear to enjoy being insane together.” 

That was the last of their conversation. Guests began to arrive regularly. There was no time for snide remarks between greeting them. 

Hermione recognized several of the dignitaries and stars that walked through the door. The president of the American wizarding world was there, as were the Prime Ministers of Germany, France, and Italy. Various singers and actors showed up, too. 

By the time the last invitee walked through the door, a half hour had passed. Tom offered Hermione his arm. “Let’s go open the ball.” 

She stopped dead in her tracks. “You didn’t mention dancing.” 

“No, of course not. You would’ve panicked.”

“I’m panicking now, aren’t I?” Hermione asked, attempting to make a run for it. 

Tom didn’t let her go. He held tight to her arm. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

She started. “You know I do.”

“Then let’s go.” 

The ballroom doors opened. The beauty of the decor was almost enough to make Hermione forget about her impending doom. Chandeliers glistened, bathing the room in warm yellow light. Banners hung on the walls, celebrating various achievements from the previous year.

At the sight of her and Tom, the band began to play. It was a slow song. His arm slipped around Hermione’s waist, turning her to face him. 

Tom moved. Hermione followed his lead, taking a small step in the same direction. He did it again. She moved her other foot. Tom picked up the pace, keeping the same pattern, and Hermione found herself waltzing. 

“I told you,” he said. The light made his sharp features look delicate. 

Hermione nodded. “You were right.” 

When the music ended, several couples moved onto the dance floor. The two of them slipped off to the side. 

After the fourth Ministry official approached them, Hermione was beginning to wish that she’d brought a book. Meaningless socializing was, in her opinion, torture. 

She must have been doing an increasingly poor job of hiding her boredom, because Tom looked at her and laughed. “Do you want to go explore the food options?” 

She nodded. “I’m starving.” 

He released his grip on her. “If you don’t see me when you circle back this way, don’t worry about it. Someone’s bound to drag me off for a private drink at some point. It always happens at these things.” 

Hermione made a noise of assent and headed off in the direction of  hors d'oeuvres. She suppressed a groan as she shoved the first bite of food in her mouth. She was starving. 

A tall brunette backed into her. She stumbled. When he turned around to apologize, a shocked expression danced across his face. “Hermoiny!” 

She blinked, setting down her plate. “Krum? I didn’t know you were coming!”

Her old crush smiled. “I did not know either, until very recently. I came to accompany my Match.” Hermione followed his line of sight to a stunning blonde girl. She recognized her from  _ Witch Weekly _ . She was a singer. 

“I’m happy for you,” Hermione said, putting an arm on his shoulder. 

Krum nodded. “I am lucky man.” 

He looked left and right before dropping into a more serious tone. “Hermiony, I saw your Tom leave. Is everything alright?” 

She grabbed a passing flute of champagne. “He’s fine. He probably just went for a drink.” 

Krum seemed relieved to hear it. “Vell. You should probably remind him his speech is coming up. Zee program says it’s at 10.” 

Hermione glanced at the clock. It was 9:45. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to give Tom a heads up. He got lost in politics, sometimes. 

Hoping no one would notice, she chugged the rest of her drink and set the glass down. After many forced hellos, she made her way across the room and into the hallway. She could see Tom’s office.

Bellatrix was leaning on the door, smoking. When she saw Hermione, she straightened. “What do you need?” 

“I came to warn Tom that his speech is about to start. An old friend reminded me.” 

“I’ll tell him,” Bellatrix assured her. She seemed tense. 

Hermione nodded. “I can wait here. That way we can enter together and it won’t seem like Tom was ditching his own party.” 

“No. I’ll tell him. Go back inside.” Bellatrix’s tone was severe. 

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, stepping closer to the door. She swore that Bellatrix’s hand twitched in the direction of her wand. 

“Trust me, girl,” the older woman said. “You don’t want to go in there.” 

Hermione’s heart dropped. She didn’t know whether it was Bellatrix’s atypical squirlieness, her intuition, or the Bond, but something told her she wouldn’t like whatever was on the other side of the door. 

Hermione drew her wand, her curiosity boiling over. 

“I’m going inside,” she informed Bellatrix. “If you want to block me, you can try.” 

Bellatrix moved away from the door. “I won’t stop you. If I were you, though, I would walk away and pretend this never happened. It’s a work meeting. That’s all it is.”

Bellatrix was an excellent liar. Hermione, however, had an excellent memory. She knew, without a doubt, that she’d never been banned from dropping into one of Tom’s work meetings. He’d often change the subject when she arrived, but he never locked her out. 

Her hand settled on the doorknob. Slowly, she opened the door. 

Inside, there was a world of noise. Someone was screaming.

Tom stood in the middle of the room, arm wrapped around the French Prime Minister’s neck. His suit jacket had been discarded. Blood stained his green tie. 

“Hello, darling,” he purred. “I thought we agreed that you’d wait in the ballroom.” 

She didn’t know the man speaking to her. It was Tom, but it wasn’t Tom. His eyes were wild. His expression was filled with cruelty. 

The French Minister seized his chance to throw an elbow. It connected with Tom’s nose, breaking it. In response, Tom tightened his chokehold, not letting go until the man slumped to the floor, dead. Or unconscious. Hermione wasn’t sure. 

Tom spit. It was red. Bloody from his nose, probably. 

Hermione took a step backwards. Then another. She grasped the door handle, trying desperately to turn it. It didn’t move.  _ Bellatrix _ , she realized. 

Tom watched her. “Are you finished?” His voice was different. The sound of it sent chills up Hermione’s spine. 

“You’re a monster,” she said. There was no inflection to her voice. She stated it as a point of scientific fact. 

“You were warned,” Tom replied. He glanced in the mirror, studying his nose. It snapped back into place. He hadn’t uttered the words of a healing charm. Wordless, wandless magic.

In that moment, Hermione realized that she didn’t know Tom Riddle at all. She knew a character, designed to set her mind at ease. 

She felt like a fool. Dumbledore had warned her. Harry and Ron had warned her, but she’d been blinded by Tom’s lies. 

“Let me go,” she demanded. “Let me go right now, and I’ll forget this happened.” 

Tom laughed. The sound made her nauseous. “Where would you go, Hermione?” 

“The Burrow,” she yelled. “My parents’ house. Anywhere but here.” 

He stepped over the French Minister’s body and took a seat, unbothered. “And what will you do when the Bond takes hold? When you  _ shake _ with the pain of my absence?” 

“I won’t miss you.” 

He stood. “Maybe not tomorrow. But once the Bond realizes that you’re abandoning me, it will make you pay. It doesn’t care what I’ve done. It cares about us.” 

With every word, he stepped closer to her. By the end, she was cornered. One of Tom’s arms pinned her to the wall. The other caressed her face, staining her makeup with blood. 

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Accept it.” 

She punched him.

He swore, recoiling. She seized the moment to pound on the door. “Help!” She screamed, not bothering to go for her wand. She was certain that Tom could disarm her in a second. Her only chance was to attract the attention of the guests. 

Tom grabbed her hair, slamming her back into the door again. “You bitch,” he spit out, panting. 

He grabbed both her arms, preventing her from moving. “Here's what’s going to happen. We’re going to clean up. At 10:00, we’re going to stroll back into the ballroom. I’ll give my speech.” 

He paused to readjust his grip. She was squirming. 

“At the end of my speech, I’m going to propose to you. You are, obviously, going to accept.” 

She laughed. “You’re insane. Why would I agree to marry you, after all this?” 

“You want to keep Ron and Harry alive, don’t you?” Tom asked. 

Hermione stopped moving. “You wouldn’t.” 

Tom scoffed. “I assure you, I would. I wouldn’t lose sleep over it, either.” 

Hermione spit on him. 

He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up. “I regret having to propose under these circumstances. I’d hoped to ease you into my world, not to reveal it all at once. By the time you saw me kill a man, I expected you to enjoy it.” 

He released her. “Unfortunately, I need a distraction. Tonight will have to do.” 

With a wave of his wand, the blood disappeared from her face. He was clean again. No evidence of a fight marred his suit. He grabbed his jacket as the clock began to chime. “Let’s go.” 

“What about him?” Hermione asked, pointing at the French Minister. 

“He’ll live,” Tom said. “For now.” 

Bellatrix watched them walk past, a suspicious look in her eyes. For once, she kept her mouth shut.

Tom paused outside the doors to the ballroom. Hermione watched as he put on a persona, piece by piece. His shoulders relaxed. Tension flowed out of his face. His eyes softened, losing their manic look. 

A single tear slipped out of Hermione’s eye. “Was any of it real?” She asked. 

He looked at her. “Yes.” 

She didn’t believe him. 

The emcee called Tom’s name. He burst through the doors, wearing a dazzling smile. “Ladies, gentleman, and Dolohov!” 

Laughs rippled through the audience. Dolohov gave a good natured chuckle. 

Tom strutted to the middle of the crowd. “Thank you for being here tonight to celebrate the achievements of the Ministry. We’ve done a rather excellent job this year, after all.” 

Another laugh. 

“We reformed the internal structure of the Ministry, fended off economic hardship, and created new social programs.”

Tom looked at her, finding her eyes through the crowd. “You could say I was reformed, too. After years of waiting, I was Matched with Ms. Hermione Granger.” 

Hermione’s eyes burned. She’d imagined this moment hundreds of times. Seeing it twisted was breaking her heart. 

She couldn’t hear the rest of Tom’s speech. Her panic drowned out the noise. 

He must have finished, because people were pushing her forward. She found herself in the center of the room. Tom faced her, down on one knee. He held out a ring. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. 

Tom’s gaze shone up at her. Until a few hours ago, she’d treasured each and every smile she managed to squeeze out of him.

“Marry me?” He asked. 

“Yes,” she whispered. She couldn’t make herself speak at a normal volume. 

When he slid the ring on her finger, she burst out crying. No one realized that she was upset. The audience wrote it off as the result of overwhelming joy. 

Tom knew.

He didn’t leave her side for the rest of the night. 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this, we're halfway done! Hard to believe. I think we're still on track for 16 chapters, if the end doesn't get away from me. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love on the last chapter! I was sooooooooo excited to finally be able to write Tom the way he really is in this fic. It was fantastic to see such a positive response. XOXO much love to all.

**CHAPTER EIGHT: THE HAPPENINGS**

Hermione woke with the sun. An engagement ring sparkled on her finger, proof of her living nightmare. She tugged at it. 

“It won’t come off,” Tom informed her. He leaned against her doorway, looking more casual than he had any right to. 

At the sound of his voice, Hermione lunged for her wand. She pointed it at him, hands steady. “Give me a reason,” she dared him. 

Slowly, Tom set his wand down on her desk. “I understand why you’re afraid. My actions last night were inexcusable.” He sounded sincere. There was no sign of the dangerous man she’d met last night. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Hermione demanded. “You’ve given away your party trick.” 

Tom’s posture snapped into formality; the sheepish expression fell off his face. “It was worth a shot, you have to admit.” He invited himself in, taking a seat. “We need to talk, Hermione.” 

“How could I possibly speak to you? For all I know, you’re here to kill me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dull. We both know the Bond would tear me apart.” 

She considered it. The Bond wanted to keep them together. It allowed brief domestic disputes, but murder would enrage it. 

“I’m glad you’re not here to kill me, but have nothing to say,” she said. “The magic between us means I can’t leave you. It doesn’t mean I want to see your face. It doesn’t mean I don’t wish you were dead.” 

“Are you done?” Tom asked. His expression remained neutral.

Hermione nodded, refusing to waste another breath on him. 

“I won’t apologize for who I am,” Tom began. “I believe in my path. I will, however, apologize for forcing you to accept my proposal. In the heat of the moment, I made a poor choice. Believe me when I say it was important.”

Despite her vow not to speak, Hermione couldn’t help interrupting him. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Tom flexed his wrist, his first sign of annoyance. “Hermione--” 

“No!” She exclaimed, picking her wand back up. “You don’t get to sit here and fill my mind with poison.” 

“You’re being unreasonable,” he replied. She could feel his temper flaring. 

“I’ve given you the wrong impression,” Hermione admitted. “I accommodated your requests. I brought you random files and put up with Bellatrix. I can see why you think that I’m easily manipulated.” 

She herded him as she spoke, using her wand to force him towards the door. “Despite what you may think, though, I’ve never been a fool. I’m the Brightest Witch of my Age.” 

Tom tried to cut her off, but she spoke over him. “You made me a fool, Tom Riddle. You knew how desperately I wanted this to work, so you became lovable.” 

“You’re wrong,” Tom told her. “I’m not dangerous.” 

She scoffed. “How’s the French Minister?” 

Before he could respond, Hermione slammed the door in his face. 

She spent the day in her pajamas, mourning the loss of the Tom she knew.

*

The following morning, Hermione woke to find an emergency issue of The Prophet by her bedside. The front page featured a photo of her engagement. Below the fold, there was news of the French Minister’s death. She didn’t bother to read the article. She had a sneaking suspicion that he’d died of strangulation. 

Tom made no effort to speak to her. 

*

On the third day, she received a letter from Ginny, asking her how Tom was holding up.

Why would Tom be in danger? She reached for yesterday's article. 

_ Foreign Official Found Dead: Suspicion Mounts _

_ French M _ _ inister Martin Barrande has been _ _ found dead in London. Aurors report that his death appears to have been caused by strangulation.  _

_ This comes just two days after Mr. Barrande attended Minister Riddle’s summer gala. Given that Barrande’s time of death is uncertain, the party is sure to be scrutinized.  _

_ Albus Dumbledore, head of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, called for a full investigation. “For too long, Minister Riddle has been above the law. No longer.” His call to action was seconded by several department heads. _

_ For his part, the Minister condemned the accusation.“If Mr. Dumbledore thinks I had time to murder the French Minister, propose to my Match, and manage the gala, he’s sorely mistaken. I’m ashamed to see such a tragedy be politicized.”  _

_ Continued on Page 5. _

That was why Tom had insisted on their engagement. He knew Dumbledore would accuse him of playing a role in Barrande’s death. He needed to make sure the story was buried. The engagement also turned the tide of public opinion his way. 

She wrote Ginny back. It was short, two sentences. Just enough to make sure she didn’t didn’t worry. 

Hermione didn’t mention anything suspicious. She didn’t want to put her friends in danger.

*

Halfway through the fourth day, Hermione began to ache. The pain stemmed from deep inside her. She tried pain potions, spells, and muggle medicine. Nothing worked. It was the Bond, rebelling against her separation from Tom. It was angry. 

If she was hurting, he was hurting too. She smiled, smug. 

Let it burn.

*

The standoff lasted two days. By the end of it, Hermione could barely walk. Her aches had been replaced by stabbing pains. Her vision was blurry. She saw stars more often than she saw her room. 

Through it all, she held her ground. 

Hermione heard the door to her room open. It was hard to see, but she could tell it wasn’t Tom. 

“Idiots,” the person muttered. Hearing the voice helped bring the world into focus. 

“Bellatrix?” Hermione rasped.

She was being picked up. “Fools, the both of you.” 

Bellatrix carried her downstairs. When Hermione realized what she was doing, she did her best to resist, grabbing at the railing. It was useless. Bellatrix broke her grip easily. “Be sensible,” she hissed. “You’re dying, girl.” 

Hermione relaxed her grip. Bellatrix walked the rest of the way to the parlor and deposited her in a chair. Then she disappeared. When she returned, Tom was with her. Hermione’s pain eased as he approached. 

She was annoyed to see that he was walking. As her vision cleared, though, Hermione noticed that his jaw was set in a grimace. Better than nothing, she supposed. 

Bellatrix left without a word.

Tom eyed her. “You’re stubborn.” 

Hermione inhaled, enjoying the sensation of breathing without pain. “So are you.” 

“Are you ready to have a conversation?” Tom asked. 

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Are you ready to apologize for slamming me into a wall?” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you that I regretted the circumstances of our engagement.” 

Strength returning, Hermione forced herself into an upright position. “If I have to see you once a day to stay healthy, fine. But I refuse to be complicit in your actions. I will not be a part of your life.” 

Tom leaned towards her. “Hermione,” he said, “you’re being foolish.” 

“Don’t start,” she snapped. “You’re lucky the Bond keeps me here. Otherwise I’d be at the Burrow, cheerfully revealing every secret I know.” 

“Hermione,” he said again. His tone was patronizing, but there was a hint of danger in the way he said her name. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Give it your best shot. I’ll listen.”

He seized the opportunity. 

“I didn’t lie about my past. I am an orphan. I didn’t lie about my interactions with Dumbledore, either. He’s had it out for me from the start. I graduated from Hogwarts with no money and no prospects, largely as a result of my background and his indifference. Back then, nepotism and blood purity ran the world.” 

Hermione shuddered, involuntarily. She hated thinking about the world before the Binding Ceremony. Blood purists were, thankfully, a thing of the past. Enough people had been forced to intermarry that no pure lines remained. 

“I traveled,” he said, ignoring her movement, “scraping together money where and when I could. In those days, I didn’t care about my future. I cared about knowledge. And the more I learned, the more outrageous Dumbledore’s ban on the Dark Arts seemed. They can save lives, but they’re banned because an old man fears his own ambition.” 

He paused, checking that Hermione was listening. Her arms were crossed and she looked livid, but she was watching him. He continued. 

“I returned to England, determined to fix the system. Unfortunately, those in power were resistant to the idea of reform. I did what I had to do to change their minds.” 

“You didn’t change their minds,” Hermione countered. “The Dark Arts are still illegal.” 

“They are,” he agreed. “For now. I’ve spent the beginning years of my career focused on social systems and political corruption in the Ministry. I’ve been successful, too. Even you can’t deny that.” 

She couldn’t, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“You were never meant to find out like this,” Tom told her. “In fact, you were never meant to know.” 

“Why do you  _ care _ ?” She demanded. “You’re a psychopath.” 

He chuckled. Her blood froze at the noise. “I’m not. If I were, I’d find a way to have you killed. You’d do me more good death than alive. Politically speaking, of course.” 

He reached across the carpet and tugged at a strand of her hair. She stiffened. “You’d make a beautiful martyr.” His whisper was soft, the quiet sound of a blade on skin. 

She recoiled from his touch.

He frowned. “This is why I planned to ease you into the Dark Arts. I knew you’d be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said. “I’m disgusted.”

Tom stood abruptly and began to pace. His temper was rising. “I thought you were smarter than this. I thought, if I laid it out before you, you’d see that the benefits outweighed the costs.” 

“What benefits?” She screamed. “You killed a man in cold blood. You’re a killer!”

He slammed his fist against the wall before turning to look her in the eyes. “When necessary, yes. Power demands sacrifice. Pretending otherwise is juvenile.”

“Alright,” she said, standing. “We’re going in circles. You remain evil. I remain opposed to murder. I’m going to my room. Tomorrow, I’ll walk by your office. That should be enough proximity to trick the bond and keep us both healthy.” 

Tom moved to block her path. “No.” 

“No?” She repeated. 

“What you saw -- I understand your reaction. And I’ll admit that I’ve been putting on a front. The Tom Riddle you know doesn’t exist. But I very rarely lose all control. The version of me that killed the French Minister is hardly representative.” 

Hermione pointed at him. “I. Don’t. Know. You.” She jabbed at his chest, accentuating every word. “I know you’re a liar. I know you’re a Dark wizard. That’s it.” 

“You forgot something,” Tom breathed. 

She raised an eyebrow.

He moved closer. She took a step back. “You’re my soulmate. You’ve mentioned the Bond, but you’ve ignored the reason we’re Bonded in the first place.” He placed his hand under her chin, lifting it. “You were made to love me.” 

Hermione slapped his hand away, unnerved. Since the incident, she’d tried not to think about the implications of their Match.

“I could never love you,” she informed him, voice steady. Deep down, she wasn’t sure. Tom was her perfect match, like it or not. 

He ignored her reply, stepping closer. “Tell me, Hermione. How long do you think it will take for me to corrupt you?” 

“You won’t,” Hermione asserted. 

“If you’re so sure, why don’t we play a game?” 

She crossed her arms. “What are the terms?” 

“Give me a week. If, by the end of it, I haven’t convinced you that my actions were justified, we follow your plan. No interaction.” Tom stuck out his hand, ready to shake on it. 

She eyed it. “What do I get out of this?” 

“What do you want?” 

The answer came to her instantly. “If I give you a chance, you have to promise that Ron and Harry will be safe. You threatened them, that night. I want you to swear, on pain of death, that they won’t be harmed.” 

He considered it. “I’ll agree to that. In return, you’ll have to vow not to reveal my secrets. Otherwise, I won’t be able to trust you. Those boys are my best bargaining chip.” 

“Fine.” 

“Fine.” 

She held out her hand, tentative. “I’ll give you a week. Nothing more, nothing less. And I’ll keep your secrets to myself.” 

Tom shook it. “I won’t harm your friends.” 

There was no need for the Unbreakable Vow. The Bond would keep them honest. Hermione could feel the weight of her promise settling onto her. 

Tom rolled his shoulders. He looked pleased. 

As happy as she was to know that Ron and Harry were safe, Hermione felt nauseous. She didn’t trust her heart not to betray her. Supposedly, she and Tom were perfect for each other. Would a week be enough time for him to corrupt her?

She shook off the thought.

Tom glanced at the clock. “I’ll call Bellatrix and Pansy. We have a press conference in two hours.” 

When Hermione started to protest, he waved her off. “You gave me a week, remember? It’s all part of the plan.” 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I know this update is a day or so late. I'm about to take finals, so it's harder to find time to write. Nonetheless, I'm going to keep updating at least every other day because this story is so! much! fun! to! write! Hope you love the new chapter :)) As always, thank you for all your kudos, bookmarks, comments, etc. They keep me going.

**CHAPTER NINE: THE CONVERSION**

The Ministry was quiet. In the midst of Tom and Hermione’s engagement, the death of the French Minister had gone largely unnoticed. There were no reporters waiting in the Atrium, no workers desperate for a word with Tom. Their arrival went unnoticed. 

They met a reporter in Tom’s office. 

The young journalist stuck out his hand. “Elliot. Thank you for agreeing to meet me.” 

After shaking, Elliot paused his Quick-Quotes quill. “For what it’s worth, I’m terribly sorry for the hassle. My boss is bizarrely intent on this story. I don’t think you had anything to do with it.” 

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  _ One week _ , she reminded herself.  _ I only have to make it through one week of this.  _

Tom patted Elliot on the shoulder. “Not to worry, son. Certain political sources have an interest in forcing the story. I’m glad you’re here to cover it. You’ll be honest, won’t you?” 

The young man nodded fervently. Remembering Hermione was there, he turned to her. “I think it’s lovely that you’ve been so supportive, ma’am.” 

“Yes, well,” Hermione said. “Supporting Tom is what I do.” 

Very subtly, he wrapped his arm around her waist. As they took a seat, his lips brushed past her ear. “Careful, darling. You agreed to do this.”

She plastered on a smile.

Elliot started the quill again. “So, Minister Riddle. Much has been made of the French Minister attending a party you hosted. Some witnesses claim that he entered your office alone before later disappearing.” 

Tom sighed. “He did. I told him I was nervous about proposing to my Match. Kind man that he was, he offered to give me some advice. But, as Hermione can attest, he left my office in perfect health.” He looked at her, steel hidden behind his mourning eyes. 

She grit her teeth. For Ron and Harry, she would tell this lie. “It’s true. He left when I arrived.” 

Elliot smiled, pleased to have created an alibi. “And has this drama affected your engagement?” 

“It’s certainly thrown a wrench in the works,” Tom said. He rested his hand on Hermione’s. At his touch, her skin came alive. It felt right, to have his hand in hers. She tried to jerk away, but he held tight. “I’m lucky to have such an understanding match.” 

She snorted, hiding it with a cough. The rest of the interview went by in much the same manner, full of delicate allusions to their current animosity. At the end, Elliot was cheerful. “I think this will answer a lot of questions. Have a lovely day, you two. And congratulations again.” 

They waved. The second he was gone, Hermione stood, getting away from Tom. She pointed at him, an accusatory sneer on her face. “This isn’t about helping me understand your actions. This is about your fucking political career. I thought our engagement was planned to bury Barrande’s death. That wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had you make me your  _ alibi? _ ” 

“You’ll see,” Tom said, unaffected. “It’s all part of the plan.” 

He muttered an incantation. A safe appeared on the wall. Another few words opened it, revealing a variety of books. “Besides,” he added, grabbing them. “I needed an excuse to stop by the office on the weekend.” 

“You always work on the weekend,” Hermione reminded him. 

“I work from  _ home _ on the weekend,” he explained. “I don’t want to look obsessive.”

She grabbed a handful of floo powder. “Let’s go.” 

They arrived in the library. Tom set the books down, careful not to disturb their ancient bindings. “Do you know what these are?” 

Hermione skimmed the titles.  _ Secrets of the Darkest Art  _ and  _ Magick Moste Evile _ were among them. She’d never seen them before, but their reputation preceded them.

“They’re Dark Arts books,” she replied, reaching out to feel the covers. She could sense energy coming off of them. 

“Go ahead,” Tom said. “Pick one up.” 

She eyed him suspiciously, but complied. The book was falling apart. She flipped through the pages, taking in the various spell diagrams and potion recipes. They were more advanced than anything she’d seen in a Hogwarts textbook. She handed it back to him. “So what?” 

He put it down. “Do you want to try?”

His voice was like velvet, smooth and beautiful. She forced herself to remember that she hated him, even as Bond delighted in their proximity. She shook her head. “No. I don’t.” 

Tom took out his wand. “Suit yourself.” The books quivered with excitement, as if they could sense his intent. 

“Intus lumen.” He flourished his wand, accenting the words. Every light in the room extinguished. Hermione groped for the table, trying to orient herself. Then, all at once, Tom began to glow. 

With his eyes closed and his arms thrown open, he looked like a God. It was unnatural. It was also the most beautiful thing Hermione had ever seen. 

After a few moments, the light waned. The library came back into sight. “What was that?” Hermione demanded. 

Tom was breathing heavy. His chest rose and fell. “It was a cleaning spell, of sorts. It expels magic, so it doesn’t build up inside you.” 

“And it’s a Dark curse?” 

He rested a hand on the table, still trying to catch his breath. “All spells that touch your soul are Dark. In fact, that’s what it used to be called.” 

“Soul magic,” Hermione tried, testing the phrase. 

“Soul magic,” Tom confirmed. He met her eyes. A jolt ran through her. “It’s true that much of it is used to kill. However, there are a variety of Dark healing charms. Intention matters more than anything else.” 

She looked at the clock. “Don’t you have a meeting at one?” 

Tom started to leave. He stopped next to her. “You can pretend, but I see the hunger in your eyes.” He grabbed her wrist, fingers moving until they found her pulse. “You’re excited, Hermione.” 

She brought her free hand up, intent on slapping him. He caught it. “Careful,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. When she met his eyes, she saw a monster in them. “I might decide to take advantage of the fact I have you at my mercy.” 

He winked and let loose her hands. 

The library seemed smaller without him in it. She made sure he was gone, then collapsed, forcing herself to take deep breaths. 

“He's a monster.” She repeated the words. Again. And again. And again. 

Even after she calmed down, the image of Tom, radiant and free, wouldn’t leave her mind. She banged her head against the wall. It felt like she was fighting an impossible war. Conceptually, she knew that she hated what he’d done to her. However, her body, her mind, and the Bond weren’t rational. 

She wanted him. Worse, she wanted him more in the dangerous moments, when he was more of a predator and less of a man. 

With a groan, she stood. It was still early. Tom wouldn’t be done for over an hour. She decided to escape the house. There was a muggle village nearby; she’d grab a coffee and browse the shops. 

The walk there was pleasant. She could’ve apparated, but she preferred the quiet country road. Tom owned most of the property on either side of the lane, so there were never other pedestrians. It was the perfect place to be alone. 

_ Pop _ . 

The sound of apparition caused Hermione’s hair to stand on end. It had come from behind her.

“Hello, Hermione,” Dumbledore said. She’d know that voice anywhere. 

“Professor,” she responded, frozen. 

He stepped to her side, holding a paper. With a start, she realized it was an advance copy of her interview. He followed her line of sight and sighed.

“I was sorry to see this, I’ll admit. I’d hoped our conversation at Ginny’s birthday would’ve awakened you to Tom’s true nature.” 

Uneasy, Hermione decided not to show her hand. Tom was a liar, but his critiques of Dumbledore rang true. The old man was, in her opinion, fairly prejudiced. His ambition had always seemed to stretch far beyond the walls of Hogwarts. 

She thought they were both in the wrong.

When she didn’t reply to his comment, Dumbledore forced the issue. “Tom is a troubled young man, Hermione.” 

“And how much of that is your fault?” She demanded. “He had no one. You were supposed to take care of him. To help him.” As she said the words, she realized that she blamed Dumbledore for much of her current predicament. By law, he’d been Tom’s guardian for years. Instead of setting him on a good path, he ostracized him. 

Dumbledore pulled a candy out of his pocket. He chewed on a lemon drop for a few seconds before responding. “He’s talked about his youth, then.” 

She nodded. “After Ginny’s birthday.” 

The old man frowned. It wasn’t clear if he was reacting to the sour candy or Hemrione’s revelation. “As much as I regret my apathy, I truly believe that no action of mine could’ve changed Tom’s future. Some people are evil.” 

Hermione kicked a piece of gravel, the only sign that her temper was rising. “I don’t believe that,” she told him.

Dumbledore gave her a pointed glance, staring at her through half-moon glasses. “Tom practices Dark Magic, as I told you. What more proof could you need that his soul is rotten?” 

“What do you want from me, exactly?” Hermione inquired. “You didn’t come all this way to have a conversation.”

A  small device materialized in his palm. “I don’t expect you to understand Dark Magic. All you have to do is trust me. Plant this in Tom’s office and I’ll take care of the rest.” 

She toyed with it. “What does this do?” 

“It records conversations. Once I have proof of Tom’s misdeeds, I can take him down.” Dumbledore sighed. “I was hopeful that you wouldn’t have to be involved. Unfortunately, my last agent was discovered.” 

Doubt began to color the edges of Hermione’s thoughts. “Who was he?” 

“The agent?” Dumbledore asked. 

She nodded. 

He toyed with his beard. “I convinced the French Minister to try on the night of the gala. Unfortunately, he was discovered. Tom killed him.” 

“That’s why,” Hermione breathed. 

Dumbledore, who had been appreciating the greenery, turned to her. “What do you mean, Ms. Granger?” 

She shook her head. “Nothing.” 

He didn’t let it go. “Are you aware of more than you’re letting on?” 

“No!” She exclaimed. “I’ve heard rumors, that’s all. I wondered what possible motive Tom could’ve had to kill the French--” 

Pain shot into her mind. Her surroundings faded; she felt her legs collapse beneath her. A montage of her relationship with Tom began to play. She had no control. She couldn't stop the memories from rising to the surface.

When he got to the night of the ball, Dumbledore slowed. He watched her walk in on Tom and the French Minister. Hermione winced, reliving her betrayal. 

After watching the most recent moments, Dumbledore left her mind. 

She was on the ground, frozen. He offered her a hand. She spit on it. 

“You’ve been foolish,” he scolded. “You could’ve come to me. I would’ve helped you.”

She scoffed, trying to hide her agony. “How, exactly? The Bond is unbreakable. Don’t judge me for my actions. It’s a bad look, considering you just assaulted me.” 

Dumbledore patted her on the head. “You’re young. It was foolish of me to assume that you’d been able to resist Tom’s charms.” 

She pulled herself into an upright position, inch by inch. Her body screamed in protest. “I have resisted him. I have to make it through one week, then he’s sworn to leave me alone. I’m no fool, Professor. Don’t mistake me for one.” 

His eyes were filled with pity. “I can’t let you go back, Hermione. I feel your soul becoming corrupted. He’s going to win.” 

“If he wins, it’s because I’ve decided that I believe him. I resent the implication that his charms would be enough for me to compromise my morals. Maybe you aren’t better than that, but I am.”

While she spoke, she reached for her wand. Slowly, slowly, slowy. 

Dumbledore took in her words. When she was finished speaking, he clasped his hands. “Forget the device. I’m going to take you to the Burrow. Don’t worry about the bond: I’ll find a way to make sure it doesn’t hurt you.” He paused. “You’ll thank me for this, one day.” 

He reached for her, but she was faster. With a  _ Pop _ , she apparated back to the Mansion. She tried to stand, but she’d used the last of her energy to get home. Dumbledore’s invasion of her mind had weakened her. 

She collapsed in the entryway, unable to move. 

Vaguely, she was aware of movement around her. Her body was frozen, but her mind was working in overdrive. 

Why did she run? It had been instinctive.

She trusted Dumbledore less than Tom, she realized. The old man had attacked her. He hadn’t been gentle, either. He took what he wanted without worrying about the consequences. Not only that, he’d demeaned her. 

Tom trusted her to see his point, eventually. Dumbledore acted like she was a naughty child. Even while she’d been at Hogwarts, he’d never praised her intellect. He favored Harry, Ron, and other unconventional students. He didn’t respect her traditional approach to learning. 

With a guilty twist, she realized that after being violated, she’d wanted to get to Tom. She felt safe in the Mansion. He might’ve been evil, but her instincts knew he’d protect her. 

“Hermione! What happened?” Someone was yelling. They were loud. She tried to focus on the voice. It might’ve been Bellatrix, but she wasn’t sure. “Someone get Tom!” 

The person seemed concerned. She tried to comfort them, but her arm wouldn’t move. 

“Go now, Yaxley! I don’t give a fuck who he’s meeting with. I need him.”

She heard footsteps. Someone ran out of the room. People were touching her, trying to turn her onto her back. She opened her mouth to scream, but no noise came out. It felt like each second was its own eternity. 

The footsteps came back. They were different this time, heavier. “What happened?” The voice was calm, but there was a sea of rage hidden behind it. She recognized the tone. 

“Tom,” she managed. Her voice sounded broken. It cracked on every syllable. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out many more words, she tried to focus on what was important. “Legil- legilimency. Dumbledore. Apparate.” 

She hoped it would be enough. She couldn’t muster the energy to say more. 

“Hold on,” he told her. 

A second later, he was in her mind. She could tell. 

Unlike Dumbledore, Tom went slowly. As he moved through her memories, she could feel her vision clearing. He was rebuilding the walls that Dumbledore had smashed within her mind. 

When his essence slipped out, Hermione could see again.

The first thing that came into focus was Tom. He was leaning over her, arms on either side of her head. His eyes were raging. She saw panic in them. Panic and anger, threatening to rise to the surface and burn them all alive. 

In that moment, she knew that, morally bankrupt as Tom was, he cared for her. 

“I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was still quiet, but it was stronger. 

Tom rested his head against his arm, breathing deeply. “I thought--” He didn’t let himself finish. “Dumbledore was vicious. The damage was extensive.” 

She closed her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom murmured. “I knew the press conference would draw him out and I figured his cruelty would be enough to push you towards me. I never expected him to hurt you.” 

“Not your fault,” she told him. 

Tom stood, giving her room to breath. “I’ll kill him for this.” His face made it clear that he was serious. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! This chapter was really hard to write. I got about halfway through before I started over. I'm happy with how it turned out, though, and I hope you love it. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support!!! xoxoxo

**CHAPTER TEN: THE CONVERSATIONS**

Hermione slept through dinner. When she woke, her room was dark. The sun had long since set, and candles she’d left burning were the only source of light. 

She wasn’t surprised to see Tom working at her desk. She watched him for a moment. Without an audience, he seemed calm. He skimmed over a document, turning the page every few seconds. His motions were slightly mechanical. 

When she could put it off no longer, she swung her legs out of bed. At the sound, Tom turned. There was ink on his hand.

“You’re awake,” he observed. 

Hermione stood, holding onto the headboard. She let go after a few seconds and was pleased to discover that she could hold her own weight. 

“You’re in my room,” she replied. “Don’t you have meetings?” 

He waved a hand. “Cancelled. They weren’t important.” 

Silence fell over the space, a tapestry of unspoken thoughts and repressed feelings. 

Sensing her legs were about to give out, Hermione dropped back onto the bed. When she could stand it no longer, she spoke. 

“We need to talk,” she said, 

Tom ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose we do,” he admitted. 

She could see his shoulders tense. Knowing that he was unhappy tugged at her heartstrings. Despite all she’d witnessed, despite all he’d done, she didn’t hate Tom. Maybe before, she could’ve. Now that he’d saved her life, it seemed impossible.

“You hurt me.” As she started to speak, her voice cracked. Tears welled up, threatening to escape. She choked them back, refusing to let her weakness show. “Not just physically, either. I loved the Tom I knew.” 

He clenched his fist. “I regret what I did. I told you that already.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me the French Minister was a spy?” She asked, catching Tom off guard. He blinked, once. 

“I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea,” he told her. “The French Minister was guilty. Next time, though, the victim might be innocent. If we get over this…” He broke off, gesturing between them. 

“Rift,” Hermione supplied. 

“Rift,” he repeated, trying out the word before nodding and starting again.

“If we get over this rift, I want the resolution to stick. I don’t want to pad your mind with pretty misconceptions.” 

She leaned back, resting on her arms. “There will be a next time, then?” 

The air stilled. Tom cut through the tension. “Yes.” 

Hearing him say it, with such confidence, she couldn’t help but frown. He noticed, and elaborated on his declaration. “You were attacked today, despite not being a player in this particular game of chess. Dumbledore will stop at nothing to destroy me. I have to be equally vicious.” 

“Do you enjoy it?” She asked, needing to know the answer. She couldn’t erase the image of him, rabid and angry, squeezing the dying breaths out of the French Minister.

Concerningly, his response wasn’t instinctual. He shifted his weight, considering it. After a few beats, he shook his head. “No. I don’t relish the act of killing.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, which was interrupted by Tom’s continuation of his thought. 

“I enjoy the power of it,” he said, voice little more than a breeze. “I enjoy knowing I’ve eliminated a threat.” 

On some level, she understood his meaning. She couldn’t avoid a visceral flinch, however. It felt blasphemous to discuss murder in such cavalier terms, let alone to admit to enjoying it. 

“You saw today what I’m up against, Hermione. Dumbledore wants to destroy what I’ve built. Worse yet, he’ll sweep into the Ministry when I’m gone, promising to wash away my evil stain. Those are the options. His world, or mine.” 

She thought it over. Yesterday, she would’ve laughed in his face. Today, though, it was hard to call Tom a liar. Dumbledore, keeper of the light, had attacked her.

Tom could sense that he was winning. He dared to move from the desk, taking slow steps towards Hermione. “Whose world do you want to live in? Mine, or his?” 

“Yours,” she admitted. It cost her to say it, but it was the truth. 

“Then help me build it,” he implored. “I’ve waited years for you. I want you by my side” 

She gripped the side of the bed, trying to resist giving in. It was futile. “If I say yes, you can’t lie to me. I don’t want to be your housewife, wondering where you are and what you’re doing.” 

He nodded. “Done.” 

“You have to swear that violence will be your last resort. I can compromise, because I know what the alternative is, but I won’t stand for it as a general rule.” She held his stare. “Swear to me.” 

“Done,” he said. “I swear it.” 

She was grasping now, “I want you to tell me the truth, about what’s going on with the French Minister.” 

He took another step towards her. “Done.” 

Out of demands, Hermione watched him close in on her. He pressed his lips to hers. When she didn’t object, he pushed her gently, watching her fall onto her back. “Are you sure?” He asked, sensing where the moment was going. 

She pulled away from him, just enough to answer. “I’m still angry at you for lying to me. But I choose you.” 

Tom smiled. It was genuine, with hints of danger around the edges. In short, it was him.

He pressed his lips to her neck, hand pulling at her shirt. 

*

He wasn’t gentle. She preferred it that way. 

*

When Hermione woke, her world was different. She was naked, with nothing but a sheet between her and the world. Tom lay next to her, asleep. She took in his face. Even in his sleep, his brows were knit and his mouth was twisted into a deep frown. She ran a hand through his hair. 

He was evil incarnate, and she’d made a deal with the devil. At the thought, she braced for a pang of regret. It never came. She was proud of herself, she realized. Tom was difficult to deal with, but she’d succeed. She’d pieced together his game, confronted him, and worked out a compromise she could live with. 

She didn’t mourn her decision so much as she mourned the loss of her innocence. On graduation day, she’d been a starry eyed idealist, ready to change the world through the standard channels. It was obvious now that her efforts would’ve failed. 

The choice was between Tom and futility, between corruption and morality. Hermione was too smart to choose an empty ideal over the promise of real power. 

That was why the Binding had brought her and Tom together, she supposed. It knew that she would make the rational choice, not the correct one. 

Tom began to stir. She was pleased to see him blink his eyes, groggy. It was a nice sign of humanity. “What time is it?” He asked, voice thick with sleep. 

“It’s early,” she said, looking out the window to the sunrise. “It can’t be later than 6.” 

“Good,” he said, pulling her close. She shivered at the sensation, unaccustomed to the intimacy of it. “I’d hate for Bellatrix to storm in and ruin the moment.” 

She frowned at the thought. “It’s the weekend. She won’t need you until 8, at least.” 

He rolled onto his side, facing her. “How do you feel about hosting a dinner party?” 

“A dinner party?” She laughed, incredulous. “Depends on the occasion.” 

“How about taking over the world? Would that meet your stringent criteria?” Tom’s manner was light, but she knew he wasn’t joking. 

She sighed. “You’ve already planned it, haven’t you?” 

“I have.” 

“Why tonight?” 

He played with a lock of her hair. “We have to do it tonight because tomorrow, the interim Minister of France is going to declare war.”

It seemed ridiculous, to know about a war before it happened. There was no lie in Tom’s eyes, though, so Hermione took him at his word. “Why?” She asked. 

“You’ll be shocked to know that he has suspicions about the death of his predecessor. I bet the Minister left behind instructions before he came to the gala. What to do in the event of his death, that sort of thing.”

It was clear the situation was serious. Hermione rolled onto her back, contemplating what it would mean to live through a war. Not only that, but to live through a war knowing the opposition’s accusations were true. That she was on the evil side. 

She forced herself not to think about it. Tom or Dumbledore, she reminded herself. 

“Do you have a plan?” She asked, trying to be casual in her inquiry. 

“I always have a plan, Hermione. I was anticipating this from the moment you walked into my study. I think if we’re careful, we can turn it to our advantage.” 

Our advantage. The turn of phrase stirred something in her. They were on the same side. 

Tom’s eyes were closed, and he was clearly running through his plans. The Bond was happy. It could tell that, for the first time, they were coexisting as their true selves. 

“We should get up, then,” she said, unhappy about the idea. “There are seating arrangements to be organized, wines to be sampled.” 

He looked at her, amused. “Careful, or you’ll start to sound like a politician's wife.” 

She held up her hand, letting her ring catch the light. “I will be, soon enough. This is stuck on me, so there’s no escape.” 

Tom looked at the ring. “Do you want me to remove the sticking charm?” 

“No,” Hermione said. “It’s good evidence, if I ever decide to turn on you.” 

He looked impressed. Hermione was starting to discover that the harsher she was, the more he was amused by her actions. 

She forced herself to get out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. She could feel Tom’s eyes on her, taking in her body. 

They’d waited a long time, compared to most couples. The combination of the Bond and the joy of knowing your soulmate was enough to consummate most Matches the day of the ceremony. There was, famously, always one couple who left the Feast early because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. 

Having had sex with Tom, Hermione could see why. Being close to him was intoxicating. His presence was a drug and, now that she’d made her peace with it, she wanted more. 

“What’s the attire for tonight?” She looked through her closet, trying to find a suitable dress. “I never know, and I don’t want to drag Pansy over here for a dinner party.” 

He smiled. 

“What?” She demanded. “Don’t laugh at me. I’ve been very clear how I feel about fashion.” 

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said. “I’m just realizing how terrifyingly rational you are. I never noticed before today, but I’m starting to see why we were Matched.” 

She toyed with a dress, holding it up to a mirror. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Hermione,” he said. “You danced with death less than a week ago out of sheer desperation to avoid me. And yet, a day after deciding that Dumbledore is wrong, you’re getting dressed for a dinner party to plot the French government’s demise.”

“I’ve never been an overly emotional person. I can’t make myself pretend to worry, once I’ve made up my mind.” 

The closet door shut. Tom pulled himself up, sitting against the headboard. “I misread you. I should’ve started with the truth.” 

Hermione turned to him, having settled on a dress. “Next time, do that. Besides, don’t you prefer it this way? Were you content to hide behind a mask for the rest of your life?” 

“That was never the plan,” Tom contested. “ I was always going to let you in on my secrets.” 

“Happy to hear it,” Hermione said. “Now, get out. You’ve sprung a party on me, and we all know our history with formal events is less than ideal.” 

“Are we good, then?”

She turned to him. “I can’t deny that I trust you. I can’t deny that I believe in your politics. Still, it will take time for the anger to fade.” 

“That’s the best I can hope for, I suppose,” Tom said. “I did throw you against a wall.” 

“There’s that,” she said. 

*

Hermione adjusted her pearls, checking her reflection for the first time. She’d been taken for a fool, but she didn’t want to look like one. 

Bellatrix knocked on the door. “People are arriving. You need to be downstairs.” 

Hermione nodded. “I’ll be down in a second.”

Instead of leaving, the brunette lingered by the door. “You can stop fussing. You look fine.” 

“High praise indeed,” Hermione responded, animosity in her tone. 

“Do you plan to hate me forever?” Bellatrix asked. “Because that’s terribly droll.”

Hermione scoffed. “Seeing as you haven’t apologized, probably.” 

“What do you want me to apologize for, exactly? For saving your life? For helping you fix your relationship with Tom?” 

“You could apologize for lying,” Hermione suggested.

“You don’t care that I lied to you,” Bellatrix said, stepping into the room. “You care that you didn’t see through it.” 

Hermione stepped away from the mirror. “You insulted my intelligence. I’m still angry with Tom about it, but we’re working through it.” She eyed the other woman. “I see no reason to work through our issues, however.” 

She expected Bellatrix to leave, but she stepped closer and adjusted Hermione’s hair. “You don’t get it, do you?” 

She dropped her hands to Hermione’s shoulders. “We didn’t lie to you because we thought you were stupid. We lied because we knew you weren’t, and we were worried about your reaction. It’s a compliment.”

Hermione didn’t respond, but she let her shoulders relax. The two left together, a peculiar peace in the air. Bellatrix disappeared once they arrived at landing. 

Tom was waiting at the door. He took in Hermione’s dress. For once, the two of them matched. Tom’s suit was black and sharp. Hermione’s dress was black, short, and dangerous. 

Hermione wished it was more modest, but she was sick of holding herself back. She was the Minister's Match, she was powerful, and she was going to take the bull by the horns.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!!! I'm sorry it's been so long. I had an absolutely crazy week and there just wasn't time to write. Hopefully I'm back on track now :)))) I'm super excited for the end of this story. Thank you for reading and for all the love. Hoping to get to comments soon, sorry if I haven't replied to you yet!

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE REINTRODUCTION**

Yaxley was the first to arrive. His early entrance was not, Hermione supposed, a surprise. He took in her and Tom standing side by side, two matching columns of steel. “Good,” he said, nodding at Hermione. “We’re going to need you on your side.” 

He stuck out his hand. As she shook it, Hermione couldn’t help but feel like she was meeting him for the first time. It was a sensation echoed throughout the entrances of his other associates. Things were different now. Undeniably so. 

She was surprised to recognize a few of her acquaintances from Hogwarts. Professor Slughorn was there. Draco Malfoy’s parents were also in attendance. Lucius and Narcissa, she recalled, with some effort.

While Tom and Lucius talked, she felt Narcissa’s cold gaze on her. Determined not to be intimidated, Hermione raised her chin and met the older woman’s eye. A ghost of a smile flitted across Narcissa’s face. 

Once everyone had arrived, Hermione followed Tom into the main dining room. It was ridiculously large, and they never ate there. For tonight, though, it was perfect. War was brewing, and Tom needed to look like the imposing and dangerous leader he was. 

Appetizers were waiting for them. Hermione took the seat to Tom’s left. Lucius filled into his right, evidently superseding Yaxley, who normally occupied Tom’s right hand side. Deep pocketbooks, Hermione suspected.

T hey didn’t start with politics. It would’ve seemed desperate, she supposed, to begin with a plea for help. Instead, Tom promised them all an open bar, and treated them to some overly-expensive caviar dishes that, frankly, Hermione didn’t enjoy. 

Only once dinner had been served, and conversation had quieted down, did Tom raise a hand to quiet the room. “I have an announcement,” he stated, voice barely above conversation level, yet still commanding the room. “Tomorrow, we will be at war.” 

Noise broke out. Tom didn’t worry about hushing his guests. Noise simply started to be sucked out of the room. It wasn’t a silencio, but the effect was the same. Hermione could feel magic pulsating out from him, absorbing the disruptions. 

After a few seconds, the room was quiet. He smiled. “Shall I continue?” 

Everyone nodded. They didn’t have much of a choice.

“As I’m sure most of you know, the French Minister met an unfortunate end at the Summer Gala. We’ve contained the story here, in no small part thanks to Hermione’s sacrifices.” 

Sacrifice was a funny way to say coerced engagement, but she stayed quiet. 

“In France, however, the people are outraged. I suspect that the French Minister left behind evidence that he hoped would incriminate me in the event of his death.” 

“That can’t be allowed to happen,” Lucius dared to interject. 

Tom looked amused. “No, it cannot. Fortunately, I believe we can turn the situation to our advantage. Dumbledore’s fingerprints are all over the situation. It will be easy enough to frame him for the murder, leaving us free to continue our more daring social programs. The war, of course, is a non-issue. We’ll win.” 

Butterflies in her stomach, Hermione cut in. “It’s also an excellent opportunity to assert further control at the Ministry. Point to your accusers and demand their removal.” 

T om’s lips curved upwards in a not-quite smile. Hermione had been worried he’d resent her interjecting in his meeting, but he seemed to like the idea. “Why stop there, my dear? I think the aftermath of the war will be the perfect time to call for a new election. We have to have one every few years. What better time than after a resounding victory and the defeat of my old rival?” 

Various people at the table nodded. “We’ll have an even larger majority than we do now,” Yaxley mused. 

“It’s settled then,” Tom said, effectively ending the conversation. “Let’s enjoy the evening.” 

After dinner, the guests made their way to the parlor, where drinks were available. Hermione saw several people toasting to the promise of continued power. The feeling of being successful was intoxicating. She felt a bit morally murky about framing Dumbledore, but she had no pity for him, not after the attack. 

Besides, she reasoned, she believed in the changes Tom wanted to make. They would help people. It was only right to stop at nothing to achieve them. 

Narcissa Malfoy approached her, interrupting her reflection. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” She asked without a hint of actual concern. 

Hermione shook her head. “Not at all.” She stopped there, waiting to see where Narcissa would take the conversation. 

" I take it you knew Draco at school,” she said. 

“I did,” Hermione responded. “I can’t say we were close friends, but I always respected his intelligence. Does he get it from you?” 

Narcissa laughed. “From his father, I’m sure. I’m just a housewife, darling.” She paused to take a sip of her drink. “If you’re smart, that’s all you’ll be, too.” 

“With all due respect, I have other plans.” Hermione tried to keep her tone level, but she couldn’t help but bristle at the insult. Who was this woman, to approach her and tell her to mind her place in the home? 

" You misunderstand,” Narcissa said. She sighed. “Our world does not accept strong women, Hermione Granger. It is not kind to them. I’m not suggesting you stay home and bake. I’m merely suggesting that you content yourself to a more subtle life.” 

Hermione looked around. The room was filled, undeniably, with men. A few had brought their wives, but none appeared to be much more than decorative armwear. Except Narcissa, of course. Hermione suspected the real power in the Malfoy family lay with her. 

Tom would never ask her to stay in the shadows. And, truthfully, she wouldn’t, even if he asked. Nonetheless, Narcissa’s words rang true. 

Hermione had a plan, though. After all, what good is unlimited power if you don’t use it for a few personal projects? 

Narcissa drifted to the other side of the room. Tom found Hermione, finally pulling himself away from the circle at the center of the crowd. “Holding elections is a good idea,” he told her.   


“I’m glad you’re pleased. I was worried you’d think I was intruding.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Look around the room, Hermione. These are empty people with empty lives. You and I though,” he whispered, “we’re going to live. We have a purpose. You’re never intruding.”

Hermione allowed herself to lean into him. Tom was steady, but she always expected him to slip away. So far, though, he’d always been there. When it really mattered, he was there. 

His hand dipped a bit lower, down to the small of her back. She stilled, reflexively. Her breathing picked up. “You look lovely tonight, by the way.” His breath nipped at her ear.

“Well,” she said, breathless. “There are advantages to having a younger Match.” He laughed into her hair. 

“Indeed there are,” he replied. “Indeed there are.” 

He was gone then, mixing and mingling with the upper crust of society. Their guests appeared to be happy, Hermione noted with a sigh of relief. She’d been worried all day. Worried about the war, worried about Dumbledore, worried about losing support. 

It appeared, though, that all was well. 

*

She woke tangled in Tom’s bedsheets. Her dress hadn’t survived the night. They’d barely made it to his room before he tore it off, promising to buy her a new one. She could still hear him teasing her. 

_ "If you wanted the dress to stay intact, you shouldn’t have worn black.”  _

She made a mental note to expand her wardrobe to include more black clothing. Immediately. 

Tom was already awake and at his desk when she opened her eyes. She’d expect nothing less. The man barely slept. Without turning to look at her, he tossed a letter in her direction. “Mail for you.” 

It seemed impossible to get used to the synchronicity of the bond. He didn’t need to see her to know she was awake, to feel her presence. She smiled faintly as she opened the letter. It must’ve been raining out; the pages were damp. 

_ Hermione -- I know our last lunch together didn’t go well, but Ron and I both miss you. Are you free today? We can meet you close to the Minister’s Manor, in town.  _

_ Harry _

“Do you need me today?” She asked Tom, debating her response. “I know the French are going to declare war, so it feels rather foolish to go to lunch.” 

He waved her off. “Go. It would be suspicious for you to be on hand, ready to make a statement of support. If we’re lucky, a reporter will follow you and get your reaction to hearing the news. That’ll be more authentic.” 

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll go.” 

She wrote Harry back, promising to meet him at the appropriate time. She hoped that this lunch would be more pleasant than the last but, somehow, she doubted it. Since graduating, Ron and Harry had stepped onto a different path. Their lives didn’t overlap the way they used to. 

Tom left early, hoping to be at the office before the news broke. He’d already begun to take steps to frame Dumbledore for the murder. 

Hermione studied for much of the morning. Knowing what she now knew about Dark Magic, she was curious to see what cross applications existed between it and runes. 

By the time she eventually left, she was running late. She threw on the first clothes she found: a pantsuit that she’d sworn never to wear. If Bellatrix could see her now, she’d be laughing. No matter. It would do for lunch. 

Harry and Ron were, for once, early. They eyed her outfit suspiciously. “Since when do you wear heels?” Ron asked, suspicion coloring his tone. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Since I was Matched with Tom. He’s too tall for flats -- I’d feel dwarfed for our entire relationship.” 

He didn’t seem persuaded, but he let the matter drop. The waitress came, sensing a lull in the conversation. “What can I get you?” 

“I’ll have the house salad,” Hermione requested. The boys both ordered sandwiches. Typical. Once the waitress was gone, Hermione began the conversation again. “How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Sort of haven’t,” Harry agreed. “Ron and I have been busy with training, and you’ve been busy with… Stuff.” 

Hermione laughed. “Ancient runes, mostly. I’m studying for an advanced degree.” 

“And how’s Tom?” Harry asked, clearly pained by the question. 

“He’s been busy with work, but we’re both doing well. We got engaged, of course.” She set her hand on the table, showing off her ring. The beautiful object, which had once felt like a promise of imprisonment, now made her smile. It was a reminder of how far her and Tom had come. 

“About that,” Ron said. “We have a couple questions.” 

Hermione tensed.

“It just seems very sudden,” Harry explained. “And the timing of everything, with the death of the French Minister, is a bit suspicious.” 

They were, she supposed, right. The engagement hadn’t been her idea. But they didn’t need to know that. They could never know that.

“Whatever ups and downs Tom and I have had, I’m happy to be marrying him,” she reassured her friends. 

The chair creaked as Ron shifted his weight. “It’s just that Dumbledore has made some concerning accusation

Hermione’s hand tightened around her fork. “Dumbledore’s hatred of Tom is misguided. If anything, Dumbledore’s the villain in this scenario. He assaulted me a week ago.” 

Ron scoffed. “If he assaulted you, it would’ve been in the papers. You shouldn’t make up such outrageous lies.” 

“I’m not lying,” she told him, iron in her tone. “It’s only thanks to Tom’s skill with occlumency that my brain wasn’t totally destroyed.” 

Across the table, Ron crossed his arms. Harry looked equally suspicious. “He might’ve been stern, but that’s only because he’s worried about you. I don’t believe that he’d risk your health.” 

“Believe it,” Hermione said. “I’m not lying.” 

“Hermione,” Ron exclaimed, “Dumbledore wouldn’t hurt a fly! Accusing him of something like that is just proof that Tom has gotten to you. You don’t have to take on all his enemies, you know.” 

“Oh, so you think I’m Tom’s useless proxy, is that it? That I do whatever he says?” 

Harry reached for her hand. She pulled it away. “He wouldn’t be the first older man to abuse the power he has over his Match. I know tradition says that you have to work it out, but we’ll support you if you leave him.” 

“Enough.” Hermione set her silverware down, definitively ending the conversation. “It’s clear that you don’t think I can stand up for myself. You have insulted my intelligence, my honor, and my Match. I’d hoped we could stay friends, even after school. Unfortunately, you’ve made that impossible.” 

At that moment, with timing so spectacular that Hermione couldn’t believe it wasn’t planned, Tom apparated into the cafe. “We have to go,” he said. 

“Tom?” She said, startled. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

He grabbed her arm. She could feel real tension in his body. Something was wrong. 

“Now,” he demanded. 

She stood. “Harry, Ron. I wouldn’t expect a letter from me anytime soon.” 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Once again, I'm so sorry. I'm in finals week and it's busy, busy, busy. It's probably unrealistic to say that I'll be updating everyday this week. That said, I'm hoping to have another update up on Friday at the latest. After that, I'll be done with school and free to finish this!! And to start my next project :))))
> 
> I think that you guys would probably rather have an update than have me respond to your comments, and I only have time for one of those right now. However, I fully plan to go back and give each one of you the love you deserve because I really appreciate all your kind words. They make my day!! Just a little backed up at the moment.

**CHAPTER TWELVE: THE CONFRONTATION**

Tom’s grip was like iron. Unable to break free, Hermione was forced to follow him into an alley. He slammed her against a wall, taking in her face, her body. She could feel his pulse racing. “Tom,” she said, trying to break the spell. 

He didn’t respond. His mind was far away, running through whatever disaster had occurred. Hermione tried again. “Tom,” she repeated, taking his face in her hands. “What’s wrong?” 

“I thought…” Tom cut himself off, unable to finish. He slammed his fist against the bricks. A cloud of dust rained down. “I thought you were dead, Hermione.” 

She swallowed a shiver. “Tell me what happened.”

He pulled himself together, slipping on a mask of indifference as easily as Hermione might’ve changed her shirt. “Bellatrix is dead,” he spit out. The words cost him his composure. He wasn’t able to hide the murderous rage behind his eyes.

Reflexively, Hermione reached out to caress his cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t appear to hear her. “I should’ve anticipated a forward strike. The French Minister’s replacement doesn't have the balls for this, but with Dumbledore involved, it’s not a surprise.”

“He killed her?” Hermione surmised. 

His lip twitched. “Yes. Her body was found in Hogsmeade. I can only assume Dumbledore caught her watching him, and decided to do the French a favor. It’s all over the news.” He reached for her. “When I remembered that you were meeting Potter and Weasley, I thought they were coming to kill you. A coordinated attack.” 

There was something akin to grief on his face. Hermione knew, instinctively, that he wouldn’t mourn Bellatrix. Publicly, he would express his despair. He wouldn’t let himself feel it, though. He would continue on. That was Tom’s way. 

Nevertheless, Hermione sensed that it was her turn to be strong. “How are we going to flip this?” She asked, shaking hands hidden behind her. 

Tom searched her face. “What do you mean?” 

“Bellatrix is dead. She would want you to use her death for the cause. For your cause. If we can tie it back to Dumbledore, maybe we can trap him. Maybe there doesn’t have to be a war.” 

The gears in his mind started to turn. “If Dumbledore is unmasked as a villain, the French will be forced to believe that he killed the Prime Minister. They’ll withdraw the declaration of war.” 

She nodded. “And you’ll be able to call for a new election, like we talked about.” 

“A new election,” he repeated. The way he said it made her suspicious, but Hermione didn’t force the issue. It wasn’t the time. 

“You need to get back to the Ministry,” she said. “In a moment like this, your absence will be suspicious. Talk to the reporters. Spin, spin, spin.” 

In an instant, her back was to the wall again. He pressed a kiss to her lips. Hot. Possessive. Wanting. “You are,” he declared, “incredibly attractive. My dark, dangerous witch.”

His weakness was gone. He was Tom again.

A minute of emotion. Maybe two. His oldest friend was dead, and that was all he’d allowed himself. Hermione wondered if her death would be dismissed as quickly, until she felt her arm starting to bruise, a reminder of how desperately he’d held her.

“Go back to the Manor,” he pleaded. “There’s security waiting for you. I can’t worry about your safety while I deal with this.” 

Her jacket had fallen off her shoulder. She pulled it back on. “I can come to the Ministry with you, if you want.” 

“No,” he said. “I’ll be locked in my office, meeting with Yaxley and Dolohov. You’re better off a home. There won’t be anything to do at the Ministry.” 

Unwilling to force the issue, Hermione watched as Tom apparated away. She drummed her fingers against the wall, debating what to do. She started to walk back home, running through various Runic combinations. 

Albus Dumbledore wanted to force their hand, did he? Well. She’d see about that.

The Manor was teeming with Tom’s assistants, all of whom seemed extremely relieved to see her. She announced that she was going up to her room, and that she was not to be disturbed. When no one objected, she flounced up the stairs, doing her best to look like a spoiled brat.

 _Underestimate me_ , she begged them, understanding for the first time what Narcissa had told her. There was power in obscurity. 

Once in her room, Hermione picked up her newest book on Ancient Runes. She took it to the library, where Tom had left his book on the Dark Arts. Setting them next to each other, Hermione Granger began to do what she did best. 

Research. 

Four hours later, Hermione had what she needed. She took a letter opener from the desk. It cut into her hand easily, leaving her dripping blood and grinning. The floor became an eerie portrait, painted in shades of red. 

Head slightly faint, Hermione stood and sent off her owl. 

She didn’t have to wait long. Dumbledore appeared quickly, eyes as joyful as ever. “My dear girl,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. We’ll get you out of here.” 

Swallowing her nausea, Hermione winced. “What about the Bond? If I leave Tom, it will kill me.” 

He shook his head. “It can be broken.”

“How?” 

“There’s a failsafe mechanism that allows the Officiant who Matched you to break it. It’s against their vows, but they are capable of it. I’ll make sure they cooperate.” 

Hermione turned to face Dumbledore, playing with her hair. “I’ve been so afraid, Professor.” Her voice cracked at the end. “He hurt me.” 

She held out her palm. “I lost a lot of blood. In fact, I feel…” Without another word, she collapsed into the center of her invisible Runes, which were hidden by a glamour. 

Dumbledore moved to help her up. “Foolish girl. You should’ve come with me when I first offered. I told you Tom was evil.” 

“I understand now, why you killed Bellatrix,” Hermione admitted. “I know why you put the French Minister in harm's way. It was all to destroy him, wasn’t it?”

The old man nodded, half-moon spectacles sliding down his nose. “Exactly, my dear. I would do _anything_ to destroy Tom. I dislike harming innocents, but a couple lives are meaningless when the greater good is on the line.” 

Still drowsy from the blood loss, Hermione blinked. “You’re going to use me, aren’t you? That’s why you’re so desperate to get me away from Tom.” 

His hand tilted her chin up. “I’ll break the Bond. In return, I’m going to ask you for some help.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice,” she laughed. 

He shook his head. “It’s me or him.” 

Hermione stood. “Then I choose him, you old bastard.” She removed the glamour, revealing the circle of her blood. She stepped out of it. Dumbledore attempted to follow, but an invisible wall prevented him from leaving the area. 

He tried to cast a spell. It fizzled out. 

Clearly frustrated, Dumbledore looked down, taking in the Runes. “I must say, Ms. Granger, when you told me that you were interested in the interdisciplinary uses of Runes, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” His gaze drifted up. “This won’t hold me for long, however. I’ll have my way soon enough.” 

“I only need a minute or two,” she countered, relishing the moment. Her eyes were alight with a raging fire, the perfect counterpoint to Tom’s icy calm. “Tom will handle the rest.” 

Reaching through the barrier, Hermione held her wand to his throat. “It wasn’t even a very good glamour. If you treated me like a threat, instead of a petulant child, you wouldn’t be here.” 

With a smile on her face, Hermione Granger began to scream. “HELP! HELP! HE’S ATTACKING ME!” 

Seconds later, aurors swarmed the library. Hermione glamoured the floor again, hiding her work from them. 

If any of them noticed that Dumbledore appeared incapacitated, they didn’t mention it. They simply stood, pointing their wands at the Headmaster, while they waited for Tom. 

When he arrived, his hand brushed Hermione’s shoulder. She could feel his amusement. “I thought I told you to stay safe,” he whispered. 

“You told me to go back to the Manor. I did.” 

“Semantics,” he laughed, breath hot against her ear.

Once he was past her, he was all business. He aimed for Dumbledore and, without drama, shot a simple stunning spell. Tom’s old enemy fell to the ground with a resounding thud. A white glow surrounded the old man.

When she saw the light, Hermione realized Tom’s trick. A beam of red light had, in fact, shot out of his wand. Woven into the red, however, had been a memory charm. He’d cleaned out any evidence of Hermione’s scheme. 

For her part, Hermione inched forward and scratched a tiny hole into the circle. When the aurors moved to arrest Dumbledore, they had no trouble removing him.

Tom watched them leave. “I’m proud of you.” 

Hermione looked up at him, the contrast between Tom and Dumbledore clear in that moment. “I was worried you’d be upset. Unnecessary danger, and all that.” 

“Oh, I’m furious,” he assured her. “I fully intend to punish you later, Ms. Granger.” 

She felt her face heat. “ _Tom_ ,” she said. “People could be listening.” 

“I doubt it,” he said. “They’re too smart for that.” Without speaking, he undid the glamour on the floor. “Dabbling in the Dark Arts, darling?” 

She curled her arm around him. “I told you that I was interested in combining Ancient Runes with other fields.” 

“What did you do, exactly?” He asked, taking in the patterns. “I recognize this as a locking rune. The circle, though, is normally reserved for summoning spirits.” 

She shrugged. “The circle is designed to keep magical creatures in. I just modified it a bit. The blood magic allows me to pass through freely. Any other being, tough, gets trapped in the circle. I wanted time to get a full confession.” 

“Brilliant witch,” he said. “You’ve solved our problems.” 

Despite his apparent joy, Tom let out a sigh.

“What?” 

Tom laughed. It sounded genuine. “It’s just so… Anticlimactic. I expected a grand duel, or a battle full of bloodshed. I didn’t think I’d come home to find the man stuck in my library.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Men. Always looking for a fight. This was more efficient. We’re just lucky Dumbledore’s so self-assured. He was certain that I was a scared little girl. When he got my letter, he rushed to my defense. He never even considered the possibility of me betraying him.”

When Tom tried to take her hand, Hermione hissed. “Careful. I cut it.” He surveyed the damage. 

“You know, this would make for a lovely photo op.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

Tom plastered an innocent expression on his face, hiding the demon deep inside. “Kidding, kidding. I can heal it now, of course. The pastries at St. Mungos are delicious, though, if you wanted an excuse to grab a few.” 

“Fuck it,” she said. “Let’s do it. I bet I can cry on command, if I try hard enough.” 

Unsure if she was kidding, Tom surveyed her. “I’m bloody serious,” she said. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Gryffindor,” he muttered. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” 

In response, Hermione grabbed him and apparated away. 

They appeared outside of St. Mungo’s. A variety of paparazzi were there, waiting. 

“Get out of my way!” Tom yelled, ever the charming hero. “She’s lost a lot of blood.” 

“Hermione,” a reporter called. “Is it true that Dumbledore attacked you?” 

Tears poured down her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping them away. “It’s so hard to process. He was my headmaster for years.” 

That was all the confirmation the press needed. Tom swept Hermione into the hospital.

Later, as a healer bandaged her wound, Hermione watched her Match. He was hidden in a dark corner, expecting her to be focused on the healer. 

To her surprise, a single tear escaped Tom’s eye. He vanished it so quickly that Hermione almost didn’t believe her eyes, but she knew what she’d seen.

He was mourning, she realized. Today had been a victory, but it had come at a steep price. Bellatrix was gone. The realization caught Hermione off guard.

In truth, she didn’t believe it. She expected Bellatrix to storm in any second.

She didn’t, though. 

So Hermione choked back her tears as she watched Tom mourn. It was reassuring, in a way. He was human after all. 

After a minute, she shifted her gaze back to the healer. In the dark, Tom Riddle's posture changed. Hermione didn't see, but his eyes flashed red.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! It's good to be back. Finals are over, and we can return to business as usual. Thank you, as always, for your kudos, bookmarks, hits, comments, etc. I don't think I'll ever be able to explain how lovely it is to log in and see people enjoying your work and telling you that they like it. xoxo
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a bit of fluff, for once.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE INTERLUDE**

The next few months were bizarrely, wonderfully peaceful. With Dumbledore out of the picture, Tom was able to manipulate the Wizengamot as he pleased. Better still, elections were rapidly approaching. Soon, there’d be no need for backroom deals. Tom would have a super-majority. 

Hermione was able to work on her studies without constant interruption. After her altercation with Dumbledore, she’d begun to mix Dark Arts into her research. 

Her and Tom existed in an easy symbiosis. He didn’t want just one part of her. He wanted her sharp edges and strange habits. He wanted to stay up late debating the laws of magic. He wanted to take over the world with her. 

It was a strange, intoxicating feeling. She couldn’t believe he was hers. 

In the end, Ginny had been right. The magic knew what it was doing. It knew that Hermione was practical enough to accept Tom’s actions and, truthfully, that she loved knowledge enough to dabble in the Dark Arts. 

She’d like to think that she was changing Tom, as well. He still worked most of every day, but he seemed happier. If Yaxley’s thanks were any indication, he was much more amicable now than he’d been before their Match. 

There were still obligations related to her new status as the Minister’s wife. That night, for example, she and Tom were hosting a Christmas party. She didn’t mind, though, because it was an excuse to decorate the Manor. 

She loved Christmas, when everything was snowy and cheerful. The main hall was done up, full of lights and trees. 

Tom ducked his head in her room. “Showtime.” 

Hermione waved him off. “Be down in a moment.” She’d need that long to collect herself. After seeing Tom in a suit, looking official and powerful, she always needed a few moments to recover. 

He shrugged, a gesture that looked strange coming from him. It was a remnant of the character he played that had carried over into his private life. “That’s fine. I can wait.” 

As Hermione ran gloss over her lips, she felt Tom’s eyes on her. Her dress was, she supposed, shorter than usual. It was green, too, and she knew he loved to see her in Slytherin colors. “I’m glad you’re mine,” he whispered, inching closer. His hand found her lower back. “You look lovely.” 

“As I keep telling you, there are advantages to having a younger Match.”

Tom smirked. “I don’t doubt it.” 

They entered the party together, to a flurry of cheers. Tom had always been a popular Minister, but his latest approval ratings were amazing, even for him. The people trusted him now, in a way they hadn’t before Hermione arrived. 

Standing on her tiptoes, Hermione reached Tom’s ear. “I can’t promise I’ll stay the whole night,” she warned him. 

Tom wasn’t concerned. “You hate parties. I wouldn’t expect you to. Give it half an hour, at least. There are some important allies here. Then feel free to make a tactical retreat to the library.” 

Hermione nodded. It would be easy to stay that long, at least. The hall looked beautiful. It was a golden oasis, safe from the cold and snow of the outdoors. A waiter tapped her shoulder. “Drink, ma’am?” 

Before Hermione could answer, Pansy grabbed two glasses off the outstretched platter. “Here, Granger. If I know you, you’ll need this to get through the evening.” 

Hermione laughed. It was strange, to be sharing a friendly moment with someone she’d hated for so long. “Thanks, Pansy. Tom gave me a green light to leave early, luckily.” 

“What, do you have somewhere to be?” Pansy asked, a teasing edge to her voice. “Is the library calling your name?”

Desperate to change the topic, Hermione cut her off. “What about you? I’m surprised that you’re here. Did you come with your mysterious Match?” 

At the mention of her Match, Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s hardly mysterious, Granger. Just because I won’t tell you who it is--” 

“Oh, come on,” Hermione said, “you know I can’t stand not knowing things. I’ve asked you a million times. I owled half my friends too, and none of them know who it is. Why all the secrecy?” 

Pansy downed her champagne. “The prat’s head is big enough. I’m making him work for it.” 

Hermione blinked. “Let me get this straight. You have a Match, and you’re Bound. You intertwined your soul with theirs, but you won’t date them publicly? How does that even work? Doesn’t the Bond punish you?” 

“I assure you, Granger, that we’re having more than enough sex to keep the Bond happy. As for the rest of your questions, the answer is yes.” 

Pansy clearly expected scorn, but Hermione broke out into a laugh. “God, you’re brilliant. I wish we’d been friends in school.” 

“It’s not too late, you know,” Pansy said, a rare hint of vulnerability in her eye. “We could be friends now.” 

After a second of hesitation, Hermione grinned. “You’re right. Shall we give it a shot?” 

“Alright,” Pansy said. She didn’t  _ look _ pleased, but Hermione suspected that she was happy. “Let’s give it a shot.” 

The both stood for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. It occurred to Hermione that Pansy, much like her, didn’t have friends that were girls. It was uncharted territory for both of them. 

“Well,” Hermione eventually ventured, “I have to go say my hellos. After that, though, do you want to sneak out and grab a drink together?” 

“I’m meeting some old friends from Hogwarts,” Pansy said. “Our group  _ could _ use a bit more estrogen, though. And, not to be a bitch, but you could use some friends your own age. Other than Thing 1 and Thing 2, that is. It might be a good fit. Want to come out with us tonight?” 

Before the Binding Ceremony -- before Tom -- Hermione would never have considered it. Now, anything seemed possible, including befriending a bunch of Slytherins. She sighed. “Let’s do it. I expect I’ll regret it, but…”

Pansy laughed. “You definitely will. Now go say your goodbyes. I want to get away from this stuffy party.” 

“This is my party,” Hermione reminded her. “I planned it.” 

“Well, that explains why it’s such a fucking bore, doesn’t it? I’m never letting you plan an event again, including your own wedding.” Pansy’s characteristic sneer was back, but her posture remained relaxed. She leaned easily against a table. 

For once, Hermione could tell that Pansy was kidding. “I’ll be back,” she promised.   


Hermione said hello to various dignitaries, taking extra care to make the new French Minister feel appreciated. Frankly, she was surprised to see him. Then again, he didn't know that her predecessor had been murdered in her home office. 

When she finally made her way across the room, Hermione managed to catch Tom alone. She pecked him on the cheek, not one for public displays of affection. “I’m going out with Pansy,” she said. 

To Tom’s eternal credit, he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Pansy?” 

“Pansy,” Hermione confirmed. 

Tom sighed. “Women. I’ll never understand you.” 

She laughed, softly. “I won’t be late.”

Pansy strolled up to the pair, coat in hand. “Hello, Minister. Ready, Hermione?” 

In that moment, Pansy reminded Hermione so much of Bellatrix that her heart hurt. No one talked to her and Tom like that aside, apparently, from their infuriating assistants. And, Hermione realized, their friends.

The two girls apparated to a club Hermione recognized from the papers. It was, she recalled, famous two things: the exorbitant entry fee and the sheer amount of debauchery that went on inside. 

Before Hermione could refuse to go in, Pansy handed her a wristband. She looked down at it. “Don't we need to pay?” 

“God, you’re terrible at this elitism stuff. You don’t have to pay anywhere. Don’t you understand that?” Pansy asked, exasperated. “The publicity of your appearance more than covers the cost of your ticket.”

“Fine,” Hermione sighed. “One night can’t hurt.” 

Inside, the room was dimly lit. There was a large dance floor, as well as a bar that looked antique. The room was covered in intricate gold detailing. “Come on,” Pansy shouted. “They’re in the back.” 

Hermione followed her to a secluded area with tables and privacy curtains. When Pansy took a seat, Hermione’s heart dropped. At the table were Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott.

In truth, she should’ve seen it coming. Pansy had been close with the boys throughout school. Nonetheless, it was strange to see them sitting there, especially since she was now at the top of the Slytherin hierarchy. 

“Erm, hello.”

Pansy gestured her way. “Hermione, you know the boys. Boys, you know Hermione. We’ve decided to be friends.” 

The way Pansy said it made her laugh. It was factual, without any nuance. 

Theodore Nott reached across the table, brown hair falling in his face. “Pleased to see you, Hermione. It’s an honor.” 

She snorted. “You can drop the formalities. I’m not here to throw around my relationship with Tom. I know it’s hard to believe, but I genuinely like Pansy. Enough to let her drag me here, at least.” 

Blaise Zabini, living up to his smooth reputation, broke the tension. “Well, that’s a relief. I, for one, plan to have a long and lucrative career in politics.” 

“Jesus, Blaise, could you be any smarmier?” Draco asked, speaking for the first time. “Theo enables you, I swear.” 

“Yeah, well, at least my Match will kiss me in public,” Blaise retorted. 

Hermione turned to Draco. Then back to Pansy. Then to Draco. Then to Pansy again, who had a scowl on her face. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life, can you?” Pansy asked Blaise.

“I can keep important ones,” he countered. “Your pissing contest with Draco is hardly important.” 

“So it is Draco!” Hermione exclaimed. “That’s why you’re making him work for it.”

Pansy’s irritation at being found out gave way to a smile. “Exactly. He was a nightmare at Hogwarts. Dumped me two weeks before the Binding Ceremony and --” 

“As I have told you a million times, I only did it because I didn’t want you to feel bad if we weren’t Matched,” Draco said. 

Hermione got the sense that this argument had played out more than a few times. “If it makes you feel any better,” she offered, “I once got so mad at Tom that I ignored him until we were practically dead.” 

The three men turned to look at her. Then, slowly, they broke out laughing. “Oh, that is good to know,” Theo said. 

“I can barely see the man without pissing myself,” Blaise joked. “It’ll be good to remember he’s human the next time he walks by.” 

Hermione shrugged. “Happy to oblige.” 

Across the table, she noticed Draco’s hand creep around Pansy’s shoulders. The brunette slapped it off. “Any other fun stories?” Draco asked Hermione, undeterred by the rejection. 

“Plenty,” she admitted. “But I think I’d be in trouble if I passed them on.” 

Blaise gestured to a bartender. “I know a way to loosen your lips. Round for the table, please! Actually, make it two.” 

“I really shouldn’t,” Hermione hedged. “I have --”

Pansy cut her off, a murderous look in her eyes. “If you say you have an Ancient Runes paper due tomorrow, I will slit your throat. I know for a fact that you finished it a week ago. I am not letting you edit it again.” 

Silenced, Hermione accepted a shot. 

And another. 

And another. 

The night started to fade away. Time meshed together, passing both quickly and slowly. Hermione was having fun. It was a different kind of fun than she’d ever had with Ron and Harry, or with Tom. But it was fun. She felt reckless and just a little stupid, but she allowed Pansy to drag her onto the dance floor. 

“Come on,” the brunette said. “I won’t let you look like an idiot.” 

Hermione stayed on the floor, basking in the lights, until slivers of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. When the five of them finally left the club, she was smiling. “Thanks for letting me tag along. I’m glad we’re all putting Hogwarts behind us.” 

Blaise winked. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, Granger, but you can be a lot of fun.” 

“I appreciated you getting us free drinks,” Theo added, words slurred together. 

Pansy laughed, a hint of affection hidden in the sound. “Idiots.” She turned to Hermione. “I’m glad you came. I feel like you could use a little fun. I know you and Tom plan to rule the world or whatever, but you’re young.” 

Hermione nodded. “This was worth the headache. I’m hoping against hope that Tom keeps hangover potions somewhere in the Manor, but I doubt it.” 

Draco tossed a vial her way. When she raised an eyebrow, he stuck out a hand. “See you next time?” 

It was, Hermione realized, an official invitation to the group’s next adventure. She bit her lip. “I’d like that. But I don’t want you to feel pressured, because of Tom.” 

Theo rolled his eyes, still blisteringly drunk. “Pansy likes you, idiot. And if Pansy likes you, we come with.” 

Hermione took them in. They were all, in various ways, leaning on each other. All of them were heavily intoxicated, and yet there was a sense of contentment in the air. She’d underestimated them, she realized. During Hogwarts, petty house rivalries had kept her from giving them a chance. 

“Alright,” she finally said, voice thick with emotion. “See you next time.” 

When she got back, Tom was waiting in her bed. “Long night?” He asked, setting  _ The Prophet  _ to the side.  She nodded, lying down next to him. “The longest.” 

“Worth it?”

Flashes of the evening came back to her. Draco and Pansy glaring at each other across a table. Blaise dancing with Theo so inappropriately that she’d felt the need to avert her eyes. The five of them, smiling at her. 

“Definitely worth it,” she said. “Bellatrix knew what she was doing when she dragged Pansy into my room. We’ve known each other for years, but we’d never taken the time to learn about each other.” 

Hermione paused. “I miss her.” 

The tips of Tom’s fingers trailed her collarbone. He cut off her thoughts with a kiss. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, luvies. Hope you enjoy this new chapter. Thank you for the love, comments, kudos, etc!!!! This may go 17 chapters. We'll have to see. Looking possible, though. XOXO

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE DANGER**

Christmas morning began, like most mornings in the Minister’s Manor, early. Neither Tom nor Hermione was particularly given to sleeping in, and so they awoke comfortably around 8AM. 

Hermione was the first to stir. She cozied up to Tom’s chest, trying to escape the chill that Winter brought to her room. They’d left a fire burning, but it had died out sometime during the night. As Hermione stared at the fireplace, it came roaring to life. 

“Morning, Tom.” Hermione didn’t bother to check if he was awake. He was the only person who could cast wandless, wordless spells with ease. 

In response, he pulled her closer, arm weaving around her stomach. Hermione settled into the feeling. The rise and fall of Tom’s chest was even. It was comforting to hear him breathe. 

She often wondered what being Tom’s Match said about her. Not in the sense of morality; she’d stopped worrying about good and evil months ago. Instead, she wondered why her Match was powerful and, she admitted, frequently dominating. 

Perhaps it was nice to have an equal, for once. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Tom complained. “It’s Christmas. Let yourself relax.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You have a meeting today, Tom. And we’re hosting your Inner Circle for dinner.” She’d listened to Pansy complain for more than a week about the difficulty of planning a Christmas meal.

“I hate when you call them that,” Tom said. “It inflates their egos.” 

“Actually, I think being at the top of an all-powerful bureaucracy does that,” Hermione mused. “Their egos are monsters of your own creation.” 

Sitting up, Tom grinned. “Touché, minx. Shall we head to the library?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “The library? Whatever for? We have blankets here, and we can call for breakfast. I have no plans to leave this bed until noon, at the earliest.” 

Tom continued getting out of bed, to her dismay. “Come on. Trust me.” 

Before she followed him out of the room, Hermione tucked a small box in her pajama pants. She trailed him into the library, where another fire was roaring. Lights had been strung up around the perimeter of the room. 

The bookshelves had been pushed to the side, leaving room for a table willed with breakfast foods and several presents. She turned to Tom. “This is lovely. I’ll have to thank your new assistant.”

“How do you know it wasn’t me?” Tom asked, clearly amused. 

Her gaze slid over to him, away from the decorations. “You’re good at many things, but interior design isn’t one of them. I’m willing to buy that this was your idea, but you didn’t execute it.” 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll admit it.” 

They relaxed into the large, plush chairs. Hermione on the right, Tom on the left, as always. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she told him. 

“I knew you’d get me a gift, and I was hardly going to be outdone.” Tom gestured to the packages on the ground. “Pick one to open.” 

All the gifts were wrapped in cheerful green paper, with large bows and beautiful ribbons. Hermione picked up the smallest one and shook it, gently. A grin spread across her face. “It’s a book,” she determined. 

“Only one way to find out,” Tom said. 

Hermione eased the packaging apart, careful not to tear it. She’d always been the type to save wrapping paper. Sure enough, it was a book. “Tom, where did you find a copy of this?” She asked, shocked. _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ had been banned for hundreds of years. 

He shrugged. “I have a personal edition. I found a discrete bookbinder and had a duplicate made.” 

The cover of the book was purple, with an embossed flower in the center. There was a morbid sort of beauty to it. The rest of the gifts were similar. By the time Hermione was done, she had a sizable collection of Dark Arts books. “They’re lovely,” she told Tom. She meant it, too. They were rare. The knowledge contained within was precious. After taking them in, she laughed softly. “You’re a bit predictable, though.” 

Tom shook his head. “I’m not done.” He eased off the chair and onto one knee. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. 

“The first time I proposed, I didn’t give you a choice. Today, I’m giving you a choice. Marry me, Hermione Granger. I…” He paused. “I love you. And I want you to choose me.” 

Instead of responding, Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out another box. “I was about to give you this,” she said. “It’s an engagement ring. It was my way of telling you that it’s real for me, now.” 

He laughed, nerves breaking. Nothing else needed to be said. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Without breaking their connection, Hermione slipped the grey ring onto his finger. 

It was a perfect moment, until Yaxley burst into the room. “Tom, I need you.” 

“What?” Tom growled. “I just got engaged. If you don’t mind, deal with it yourself.” 

“Didn’t you get engaged months ago?” Yaxley asked. When Tom glared at him, he threw his hands up. “Not my business, not my business. The fact remains, however, that I need you.” 

Hermione patted Tom’s shoulder, imploring him to release her. “It’s alright. Work is a part of who we are. You and I both feel that way.” 

“I’m not leaving,” he said. 

Yaxley kicked at the carpet, clearly nervous. “Dumbledore is gone.” 

“He’s _what_?” Hermione asked, icy tone cutting to the core of Yaxley’s fear. “How did the aurors lose him?” 

“They didn’t.” Tom connected the dots as he put his shirt on. “They let him go. I thought Kingsley would be smart enough not to betray me, but it seems that his loyalty to Dumbledore runs deeper than I know.” 

Striding through a maze of wrapping paper, he made his way to Yaxley. “I’m sorry, Hermione. We’ll finish this tonight.” 

“Maybe I should come with you,” she offered. 

He shook his head. “I need to do this alone. It’s one thing for him to ‘attack you.’ It’s another for you to fight all my battles. I’ll look weak.” 

With that, he was gone. 

Hermione sighed. Her gaze slipped over to the books. Might as well, she supposed. Tom wouldn’t be back for hours. 

She felt like that should’ve upset her, but it didn’t. It was practical for him to leave, just like it’d been practical for him to leave on the day of the Binding Ceremony. She wasn’t a jealous person, or an overly emotional one. 

Pansy arrived around 6 o'clock, as planned. She didn’t knock, instead striding in like she owned the place. To Hermione’s surprise, Draco was in tow. When Pansy caught her staring at him, she tsked. 

“Narcissa and Lucius insisted we spend the day together. Why, I can’t imagine.” 

Draco, with great effort, managed not to roll his eyes. “No rhyme or reason to it. I can’t imagine why they’d want us, a Matched couple, to spend time together.” His tone was droll, his gesticulation clearly mocking. 

With a sign, Pansy began to lay out a blouse and pants. “It’s forcing me to be terribly unprofessional. I apologize for bringing him here.” 

“I don’t mind,” Hermione assured her friend. It was true. Draco was spoiled, snobby and, occasionally, cruel. But he was also funny, and he’d accepted Hermione into his circle.

Sensing a losing battle, Pansy changed the subject. “Where’s Tom?”

“Dumbledore escaped.” Hermione crossed her hands, nervous. “Tom left to help with the search. He thinks he’s hiding in the Forbidden Forest.” 

“So he’s gone, is he? And right before the party,” Pansy scolded, an edge to her voice. 

Draco put a hand on Pansy’s wrist. “Pansy,” he warned. What he was warning her of, Hermione wasn’t sure. 

“Piss off, Draco. We’ve talked about this,” Pansy countered. “In fact, I need you to fetch something from the parlor for me. There’s a lovely mirror, about three inches by five inches. It’s enchanted; you’ll know it when you see it.”

With a tired frown, Draco left the room on what, Hermione suspected, was as a fool’s errand. “Why did you send him away?” She asked. 

“Have you seen Tom’s new assistant?” Pansy asked. “Bellatrix’s replacement.” 

Ice creeped into Hermione’s gut. “Not yet. He just hired her. We haven’t had a chance to become acquainted, unfortunately.” 

“Isn’t it suspicious,” Pansy muttered, “that she’s so _very_ good at her job?” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. I assumed that Tom found someone with similar work experience to Bella.” 

Pansy began to lace up Hermione’s dress. “That’s possible. It does seem, though, like nothing’s changed. It’s almost like Bella _never left_.”

When she realized the subtext of Pansy’s message, Hermione spun around. “It’s impossible. Tom took me to see the body. I wanted to say goodbye.” 

“Are you sure, Granger?” Pansy demanded. 

She took Pansy by the shoulders. “What do you know? You must have some evidence, or you wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.” 

“Narcissa Malfoy seemed well-acquainted with the new assistant. Bella was her sister, remember. Couple that with the seamless transition of power, and something smells. Draco agrees with me. He was worried about your response, but I told him you wouldn’t run to Tom.” 

“I won’t,” Hermione promised, her mind far away. “I know you’re trying to look out for me.” 

“I am,” Pansy assured her. For once in her life, she sounded sincere. “Now, let’s get you dressed. If we hurry, we’ll be ready by the time Tom gets back from dealing with Dumbledore.” 

“Dumbledore,” Hermione repeated, slowly. “Merlin, that’s it!”

The pieces of the puzzle came together in one fell swoop. Why would Tom lie about Bellatrix? Why risk their balance, their mended relationship?

Because of Dumbledore, of course. 

She believed that Tom loved her. Despite it all, she really did. She also believed, though, that his rivalry with Dumbledore went far beyond hatred. The power struggle was an integral part of both of their lives. 

For Tom, it wouldn’t have been enough to see Dumbledore behind bars. He would’ve needed to beat him. 

It made sense. 

The sinking feeling in her soul told her that it was true. If Tom had found a way to keep Bellatrix alive, he would’ve had someone at his disposal to release Dumbledore from custody, without being guilty himself. 

From there, it would be easy to blame the aurors. That was an added benefit. 

In that moment, she felt the world shift. It didn’t crumble, but it changed. She realized that, again, she had romanticized Tom. 

She wasn’t angry. It was foolish to be angry. She knew that Tom would do anything to maintain his power over the Ministry and to quash his rival. She wasn’t upset at his actions, she was upset at being left out of the decision.

Tom would be Tom, though. If she didn’t force him to change, he would continue to shelter her from the worst of his decisions. He wasn’t, by nature, a trusting person. In a sense, he was doing it because he cared about her opinion. 

Hermione wished that she had real bargaining power, but she didn’t. They were Bound for life. If she wanted to improve her situation, she had to work around that. 

For once in her life, she decided to pick her battles. Tonight, with Tom hunting down his mortal enemy, was not the time to take a stand. She wanted to level the playing field and force him to see her in a new light, but the timing was off. 

Besides, throwing a fit wouldn’t win her any respect. If anything, it would prove that she couldn’t handle the pressure of the high stakes game that they were playing. It was time to put on her big girl shoes, force a smile, and host a dinner party. Her issues with Tom were between her and Tom. Whatever sense of betrayal she felt, whatever anger there was about being allowed to mourn Bellatrix, was not for the world to see.

There was no reason to let the sharks smell blood. There was also no reason to tip her hand. 

She walked downstairs, Pansy by her side. Draco met them. “I never managed to find the mirror,” he drawled. “I’m beginning to suspect that it never existed.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I would never lie to you.” 

Hermione and Draco scoffed simultaneously. “What?” Pansy bit out. 

“You definitely would,” Hermione said. “Lie to him, that is.” 

“Oh, really?” Pansy asked. “Name one lie I’ve told Draco.” 

Hermione looked down at her heels, debating how fast she could run. “You tell him you don’t love him. That’s a rather egregious lie.” 

She was in the foyer, opening the door, before Pansy managed to get her wand out. As guests started to enter, she put it away. She met Hermione in the entryway. “I’ll get you for that,” she promised. 

“It’s Christmas, Pansy. If you’re in the giving spirit, you should throw the poor boy a bone.” 

“I’m never in the giving spirit,” her friend rebutted. “I’m a Parkinson, for god’s sake.”

Hermione laughed. She welcomed guest after guest and answered question after question about Tom’s mysterious absence. Through it all, she remained composed. She covered for him, without giving away her personal worries. 

For the first time, Hermione felt like the Minister's Match.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! After plowing through some truly terrible writer's block, I can finally present Chapter 15. Just the epilogue left now! I thought this fic might go over a chapter, but I found a way to stay at 16. It's truly so crazy this story is coming to an end. I've already picked out my next two fic ideas though, so that's fun!
> 
> Thank you for all the love, as always. It makes my day!! xoxoxo

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE WEDDING**

Months later, Tom caught Dumbledore. 

According to the official report, Dumbledore attacked Tom and forced him to fight for his life. Kingsley contested Tom’s story, but, given that Kingsley was in Azkaban, he didn’t have much credibility. 

Hermione had to give Tom credit. Dragging Kingsley along on the mission, only to claim he tried to help Dumbledore, was a brilliant move. Dirty, but brilliant. 

With his true rival dead and his political rival in jail, Tom’s influence was unchecked. He began to erode restrictions on the use of Dark Magic. He claimed the changes were part of a larger review of bills spearheaded by Dumbledore, but Hermione knew the truth. It was personal.   


Through it all, Tom’s assistant was by his side, handling the press, managing his schedule, and attending meetings in his absence. It was a sloppy cover-up. Hermione knew that he wouldn’t trust an outsider that much, after so little time. 

Still, she bided her time. Throwing a temper tantrum would accomplish nothing. She worked on her research and attended various social events with Pansy. She ignored Harry and Ron’s angry letters, warning her that Tom had killed Dumbledore for political reasons. 

How stupid did they think she was? 

She kept face with regard to wedding planning. Truthfully, though, that was all Pansy. Hermione hadn’t been allowed to pick out so much as a flower. 

Through it all, Hermione struggled with Tom. She was attracted to him, on both a physical and mental level. She wanted him to touch her, to consume her. She wanted to spend the rest of her life watching his brilliant mind work. 

In the end, though, Hermione knew what she needed to do. It was scary, but she was a Gryffindor, and she refused to be afraid. 

*

“It’s beautiful, Pansy,” Hermione said, taking in her wedding dress. It was a princess gown, with a tight bodice and a voluminous skirt. “Thank you for helping me pick. I don’t have an eye for this sort of thing.” 

Pansy shrugged, adjusting the neckline of her bridesmaid’s dress. “You would’ve worn jeans, left to your own devices. It’s my solemn duty to make sure that doesn’t happen.” 

Ignoring the barb, Hermione turned away from the mirror. “Is everything on schedule? The caterer seemed wildly unreliable when I met him. I’ve been nervous about the food not getting here on time.” 

Pansy waved her off, not dignifying her worries with an answer. “Leave it all to me. As long as you and Tom are ready to walk down the aisle in half an hour, everything will be fine. We’re on schedule.”

“Speaking of Tom, is he back yet?” Hermione asked. “He insisted on working this morning.” 

As if in response, Yaxley knocked. “Can I come in?” 

“Come in, come in,” Hermione responded. “We’re all dressed.”

Yaxley stepped into the room, dressed in a blue suit. “Tom just got back. He’s changing now. I can't imagine there will be any delay.” 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been mildly afraid of being stranded at the altar. “Perfect. Tell him I’ll see him soon.” 

With a nod, Yaxley headed back downstairs. Pansy watched him go. “Are you excited?” 

Hermione looked at her, smiling. “I know I’m making the right choice. He makes me believe that I can be something beyond myself. It’s true that he can be a pain, but I’ll find a way to put him in his place.” 

Pansy looked dubious, but she nodded. “Just checking. If this isn’t what you want, there’s still time for you to leave.” 

Laughing, Hermione tugged at her engagement ring. Tom had never removed the charm, so it was still attached to her. “I’m rather stuck,” she told Pansy. “Not to worry, though. I would choose this, even if I wasn’t.” 

“Good,” Pansy said, relieved. “I’d hate to have to cross Tom. He has a bit of a temper.” She drew open Hermione’s curtain, peering down at guests, who had begun to take their seats in the Manor’s yard. 

“Looking for anyone in particular?” Hermione joked, breaking Pansy’s concentration. In response, her friend dropped the curtain. 

“Bitch,” Pansy said, affection obvious in her tone. 

“How’s Draco?” Hermione pushed. 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Shall we head down?” 

Hermione nodded. “Let’s do this.” 

*

A wedding march began, soft and sweet. Hermione took her first step as a bride. She was walking alone, having decided to keep her muggle parents away from the magical ceremony. 

The aisle was covered in rose petals, stark white against the green grass. Hermione’s hair was in a delicate bun, held in place by dozens of shimmering pins. Her makeup was natural, just dramatic enough to provide her with an unusual glow. 

Down the aisle stood Tom, looking sharp in a black suit. He’d taken the time to artfully tousle his hair. It curled more than usual, creating a sea of dark waves. He looked dangerous, as he always did. 

When he saw her, a smile crept onto his face. It wasn’t a blinding grin. It was a real smile, full of real joy. 

In that moment, Hermione loved him more than she ever had. 

She walked toward Tom, certain that she was making the right choice. When she arrived at the altar, the Officiant stepped out from the audience. He walked slowly, leaning on a cane. 

Recognition flashed in Tom’s eyes. “Is that the same--” 

Before he could finish whispering, Hermione cut him off. “It’s the one who Bound us, yes. Symmetry!” 

Tom grinned back at her, playing up the moment for the audience. Hermione wondered if he knew what was about to happen. 

The Officiant began to speak. “Although this couple is already Bound, I am going to perform the wedding with sacred magic, to strengthen their connection.” 

Next to her, Tom tensed. They hadn’t discussed using any sort of magic in the ceremony. Hermione knew, though, that he wasn’t willing to look like a fool in front of their guests. He would be forced to go along with it. 

The Officiant lifted his wand. Hermione felt him begin. Next to her, Tom couldn’t help but jump. It was a strange sensation, full of both pain and relief. Once the magic settled in, Tom’s gaze turned to her, aware of what she was doing. 

“You planned this,” Tom hissed. “How did you know?” 

Hermione kept a serene smile on her face. “Dumbledore let a few things slip.” 

“Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, take Tom Marvolo Riddle to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The Officiant asked, magic still streaming from his wand. 

Without missing a beat, Hermione responded. “I do.” 

The Officiant turned to Tom. “Do you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, take Hermione Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Seething and, for the first time in his life, trapped, Tom managed to pass the anger in his eyes off as passion. “I do.” 

“I declare you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” 

As the Officiant finished the ceremony, he wrapped up the spell with a flourish. At the same time, Tom’s mouth crashed into Hermione’s. Despite the way it looked, he wasn’t gentle. 

When they pulled apart, the world was different. 

The Bond was gone. 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. The months she’d spent biding her time, tracking down the Officiant, and hiding her plans from Tom paid off. She was free, for the first time in months. 

Tom and Hermione walked to the reception area hand in hand. His grip was tight. After the stunt she’d pulled, he was unwilling to let go of her. 

It was a testament to Tom’s patience that he waited until they were alone, at the head table, to speak. 

“You fool,” he seethed, furious. “What have you done?” 

Hermione turned to him, no longer afraid. She had bested him one. She could do it again. “What have I done? What have you done, Tom? You let me mourn Bellatrix, when she wasn’t dead. You lied to me about killing Dumbledore.” 

He shook his head. “I--” 

“No!” Hermione explained, unwilling to hear an explanation. She took a breath, calming herself. “Listen,” she said, holding Tom’s gaze. “You’re older than me. You’re more powerful. I thought, despite those things, that you could respect me.

“Your actions, time and time again, proved you couldn’t. You failed to trust me. I wanted to leave you, but the Bond forced me to stay.” 

Tom closed his eyes. “That’s what this is, then? The start of your way out?” 

To his surprise, Hermione put her hand on top of his. “I’m not leaving you Tom. I chose to marry you today. I could’ve broken the Bond and left, but I didn’t. Against my better judgement, though, I love you.”

“If that’s true, why did you break the Bond?” Tom asked, frustrated. 

Hermione surveyed the room, making sure no one could hear them. “I’m not leaving you. I could, if I wanted to. You’d deserve it, for the lies you told about Bellatrix.”

She paused, taking a drink. “The next time you lie to me, though, I will leave you. That’s not an empty threat, and you know it. I love you, but I won’t tolerate any more lies. I’m free to punish you for them.” 

For the first time since the ceremony, Tom relaxed. “I can live with that.” 

Hermione grinned, a crooked smile flitting across her face. “You can?” 

He nodded. “I can. I love you, Hermione, and I’ll have you on whatever terms you’re willing to offer.” He picked up his glass, offering a toast. “Here’s to the truth.” 

Hermione matched his motion, clinking their glasses together. “To the truth.” 

Tension broken, Tom let his arm slip around Hermione's waist. She looked up at him, surprised. “You’re already over it?” 

Tom shrugged, wrinkling the smooth lines of his suit. “Don’t mistake nonchalance for apathy, darling. I’m furious. If you were anyone else, you’d probably be dead.” Sensing Hermione’s growing alarm, he changed course. 

“As angry as I am, though, you’re still mine. That’s what matters. So I plan to enjoy our wedding.” He let his eyes travel up and down her body, taking in her appearance. “And our wedding night.” 

Try as she might, Hermione wasn’t able to keep from blushing. 

*

T he rest of the evening went off without a hitch. The food was delicious, the drinks were strong, and the band was wonderful. Theo and Blaise were there, cheerfully drunk. Hermione walked past them on the dance floor, grinding. They flashed her identical, mischievous smirks. 

Draco and Pansy disappeared into the Manor. Hermione tried not to think about what they were doing, or where they were doing it. She was happy for them, but she decided to change all the sheets, just to be safe. 

Narcissa Malfoy found Hermione at the bar and commented on the lovely use of magic during the ceremony. Hermione wasn’t sure, but she suspected that Narcissa knew exactly what had happened. The two women agreed to get lunch when Hermione was back from her honeymoon. 

Tom spent most of the night mingling, although he spared an hour and a half to dance with Hermione. For him, that was underheard of. 

Everywhere she went, Hermione could feel his eyes on her, making sure she didn’t leave. Breaking the Bond was, she decided, beneficial in multiple ways. She could hardly wait for the evening. The hunger in his eyes was clear. 

He wanted to claim her. To prove that she was his, despite her actions. 

Around midnight, Hermione and Tom started to say their goodbyes. They’d decided to leave for their honeymoon, rather than spend a night in the Manor. Hermione couldn’t wait. Tom wouldn’t tell her where they were going, but he’d promised great things. 

Once they’d made the rounds, they grabbed onto an old coat and watched the world dissolve into nothing. They landed softly, alone on a dark island. There was a large house in front of them. 

Tom grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her inside. He wasn’t a patient man. 

They made their way upstairs, delayed several times by Tom’s inability to keep his hands off Hermione. For the first time in months, she saw a hint of the wild man who had proposed to her in the study. 

The bedroom was modern, with a sleek bed and grey carpet. There was a large bookcase in the back corner. Before she had time to turn and take in the rest of the room, Tom pushed her onto the bed. 

“Mine,” he declared, taking in the sight of her in a wedding dress. 

“Yours,” she agreed. 

He took off his tie. As he was about to cast it away, he stopped. “I can think of a use for this,” he whispered, meeting Hermione’s eyes. 

After a moment, Hermione nodded. She moved back on the bed, allowing Tom to wrap the silk around her wrists. 

Tom’s expression was wicked. “I deserve a little fun, don’t you think?” 

*

Long after Hermione fell asleep, Tom lay awake, smiling and toying with her hair. He was glad she hadn’t straightened it for the wedding. He loved her curls.

Hermione woke with a start, the sensation of being watched waking her up. “What?” She asked, groggy. 

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m allowed to admire my wife, aren’t I?”   


She laughed. Then, with some hesitation, she spoke again. “I’m glad you understand why I had to break the Bond. I love you, but I can’t be trapped for the rest of my life. Being with you has to be my decision.” 

Tom kept stroking her hair, enjoying the sense of closeness. “I’m not angry. I was, at first, but I understand why you did it. I shouldn’t have lied about Bellatrix.” He turned, making eye contact. “How did you convince the Officiant to break the Bond, though? It’s against their vows.” 

“I explained the situation. He thought it was reasonable,” Hermione said. She looked away as she said it, unable to meet his eyes. 

In the dark, Tom grinned, his suspicions confirmed. “I suppose.” 

A moment of silence.

“It’s late,” Tom said. “Goodnight, Mrs. Riddle.” 

A shiver ran through Hermione’s body at his words. “Goodnight,” she whispered back. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello. At long last, here the end to this story. I'm sad to let it go, but I'm grateful for all the love and support I've received while writing it. This was my first big story and your love helped me to get through it. XOXOXO
> 
> P.S. Next on my list to write a Draco x Lily Luna one-shot, then a Tom x Hermione American politics fic. I hope you'll consider checking back for those pieces. 
> 
> All my love,   
> Nimbus2003

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE END**

_ (53 Years Before the Binding) _

The Binding Ceremony terrified Tom Riddle. He had a casual disdain for most of his female classmates. There were one or two of them that he could stand, but he didn’t want to be  _ married _ to them. 

It wasn’t that he disliked girls, specifically. Tom disliked people in general, a quality which made the Binding seem like torture. Nonetheless, Tom trusted magic. He believed in it with every fiber of his being. If the Officiant told him to spend the rest of his life with Violet Greengrass, he’d give it his best shot. 

Tom tapped his foot as he waited in line, the only outward sign of his internal turmoil. Around him, happy students burst out of tents and ran to their Matches. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

After a brief eternity, he was called into a strange, fabric structure. An old woman sat perched a stool, beckoning him. He took a seat across from her, heart racing.

“Hello, ma’am,” Tom intoned, pulling on a polite mask. 

Amusement colored the woman’s gaze. “Don’t try to fool me, boy. You’re wasting your time.” She reached for his arm, knife in hand. “Ready?” 

Tom nodded, feeling smug. He’d bet that the Binding used blood magic. 

Despite the sharp pain, Tom didn’t wince when the knife cut into his skin. He relished the moment. Years of fear and nervousness about the Binding, and it was finally here. In a few, short minutes, he’d be free of it. 

Across from him, the old woman began to cast a spell. Light filled the room, blinding Tom. He kept quiet, sensing that he shouldn’t interpret the process. Silence filled the air. 

The woman opened her eyes suddenly, nearly causing Tom to jump. She seemed surprised, which was a bad sign. God, what if he didn’t have a Match? Dumbledore would have a field day. 

“Relax,” the woman demanded. “Everyone has a soulmate.” 

“Then why do you look so alarmed?” Tom rebutted. 

She chuckled, irritating Tom further. “I’m not alarmed. Just surprised, is all. It’s not often that I see this result.” Pulling herself together, she looked Tom dead in the eyes, something few people dared to do.

“Your Match is not of age. As such, I cannot reveal her name or location,” the woman began. “I can, however, tell you that she will come of age in 1996.”

Tom jumped out of his seat, hand running through his hair. “1996? That’s more than 50 years from now! You must be wrong.” 

For the first time, the woman’s composure seemed to break. Her eyes softened, pity filtering in. “I’m sorry, Tom. This does happen, from time to time. Especially with unique individuals.” 

“What makes you think I’m unique?” Tom asked, using a mocking tone to mask his panic. Despite the upsetting news, he didn’t allow himself to react. Tom Riddle was in control. Always. 

The old woman pressed a hand to his cheek. “You’re powerful, Tom. Surely you didn’t expect one of your classmates to be your Match? You need someone who can understand you. Someone like that, though, isn’t born everyday.” 

Tom stepped towards the exit. “I trust you.” 

The woman nodded, and watched him leave.

Tom felt like kicking something. Although the Officiant's logic was sound, it was still disappointing. He craved understanding. He had followers. That wasn’t the same as having a lover.

53 years. 

Tom inhaled, sharply.

He would find a way to keep himself young. Whatever it took, he would have a life with his Match. He would make her his. 

*

_ (53-0 Years Before the Binding) _

He traveled. From Beijing, to Budapest, to Tirana, Tom searched for a way to keep himself young. Along the way, he discovered Dark Magic. He’d experimented at school, of course, but that was nothing compared to the spells he learned while traveling the world. 

Halfway through his journey, he discovered horcruxes. They were an elegant solution to all his problems. They were dangerous. Having multiple could drive you insane. One, though, was enough to delay the aging process and allow for regeneration after death. 

When Tom returned to England, he had a new goal. While he waited for his Match, he aimed to take over the Ministry.

Armed with a handy spell to modify memory en masse, Tom convinced wizarding society that he was a recent graduate of Hogwarts. Dumbledore, of course, saw through his trickery. No matter. Everyone else believed him. 

Within five years, he’d gone from Undersecretary to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to Minister for Magic. 

Through it all, Tom kept an eye on the date. He knew, based on the information the officiant had given him, that his match would matriculate to Hogwarts in 1991. 

He read the paper religiously, watching for any mentions of Hogwarts students. One name came up, over and over. Hermione Granger. 

_ Hermione Granger Receives Top Marks, Leads Gryffindor to the House Cup.  _

_ Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Prodigy, Finds Thirteenth Use for Dragon’s Blood.  _

_ Hermione Granger is Named Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  _

There was no doubt in Tom’s mind that Hermione Granger was his Match. He wondered what she looked like. He wondered about her personality. He wondered what his favorite color was. 

Then, on the day of the Binding Ceremony, Tom saw her. And he didn’t wonder anymore. He just  _ knew _ . 

*

_ (One Year After the Wedding) _

Tom watched Hermione walk out of her examination. She strode out confidently, waving to the amassed crowd of reporters. When she reached Tom, she pulled him into a kiss. Behind them, they could hear cameras snapping. 

“Good?” Tom asked, taking in Hermione’s expression. The Master’s exam for Ancient Runes was notoriously difficult. 

Hermione smiled. “I passed. I’m sure of it.”

Pride filled Tom’s thoughts. She’d come so far. When they were first Matched, Hermione constantly doubted herself. He was certain that the old Hermione would’ve walked out of her exam and started panicking. 

No longer. She was a confident, powerful woman. Her fearlessness forced Tom to admire the Gryffindor side of her. 

Gone were the days where he thought of her as a pawn to be manipulated, or a delicate rose that needed to be protected from the harsh realities of the world. When things went wrong, Hermione was always the first to know. 

The Bond between them had been broken, but their marriage was powerful in its own right. They were in love. That was enough. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Tom whispered. Nerves threatened to derail his plans, but he plowed through.

Hermione grinned. “What are we waiting for?” 

Tom apparated them to the Manor. “Wait here,” he told her, leaving Hermione in the library. “I’ll be back.” 

She settled into a chair, picking up a book. It took Tom several minutes to return. Putting aside her reading, Hermione picked up a quill and began a letter to Pansy. Her friend was busy planning her own wedding, and they desperately needed to catch up. 

When Tom stepped back into the room, he was holding a locket. It was gold, with emeralds on the front. 

“That’s a little flashy for my taste,” Hermione joked. 

He didn’t crack a smile. “It’s not meant to be worn.” 

Sensing her husband’s seriousness, Hermione put aside her letter. “Tom,” she said slowly, “why do you have a locket?” 

The emeralds caught the light, casting an eerie glow over the room. Without speaking, Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. Dark Magic flowed out of it, sucking all the air out of the room. 

“Is that a horcrux?” Hermione asked. There was no judgement in her tone. 

Tom nodded. “It is.” 

When Hermione didn’t react, he raised an eyebrow. “I expected more disgust.” 

“Disgust?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I knew you kept yourself young somehow. I would’ve bet on unicorn blood, but this isn’t too much of a surprise.” 

Tom handed her the locket. “I want you to make one.” 

Hermione knew that she should refuse. But after she looked at the locket, and at the glow of love hidden in Tom’s eyes, she nodded.

“I won’t kill anyone innocent,” she warned him. 

Knowing he’d won, Tom smiled. 

*

_ (Five Years After the Wedding) _

“Tom,” Hermione called, “I can’t find my notes. I left them in your--” 

Tom tossed a notepad in her direction without looking up from his speech. Hermione mumbled something behind him. He didn’t engage, instead rushing to finish his speech. 

Tom ran a hand through his hair, disturbing his artfully arranged black curls. He wrote a line, then crossed it out. Wrote a line, crossed it out. Gently, Hermione took the quill from him. 

" It’s good, Tom. Leave it,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

Tom relaxed into her embrace, enjoying the sensation. He’d never get used to having her. “It could be better,” he said, eyeing a sentence he’d like to crucio. “Some parts are sloppy.” 

He could feel Hermione rolling her eyes. “I can tell you’re going to change it, no matter what I say. I’ll head over to the Ministry and buy you a few minutes. You’d better be there by ten, though.” 

Tom waved her off. “I will be.” 

With a sigh, Hermione headed to the  Apparition Point. She passed Bellatrix on her way out. “Make sure he’s on time.” 

Bellatrix nodded, laying a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Hermione took in her friend’s face. It had been years since Bellatrix’s death, but it was still strange to see her with blonde hair and delicate features.

“I’m fine,” Hermione promised. “I’ve been resting for weeks. I’ll lose my mind if I don’t get out of the house.” 

Bellatrix looked displeased, but Hermione pushed past her before she had the chance to say anything else. 

*

Diagon Alley was filled with supporters, politicians, and reporters. Hermione stayed backstage, but she was still ambushed by dozens of reporters and well wishers. She met them with smiles and cryptic answers. 

“Hermione! Hermione! Is Tom responsible for the abolition of the Wizengamot?” 

She laughed, playfully tapping the reporter’s shoulder. “Will, darling, you know I can’t comment on that. I barely follow the news these days!” 

T he crowd burst into laughter. “Very funny,” Will intoned. 

“It’s true!” Hermione exclaimed. “I spend all my time in the library, researching Ancient Runes with a bunch of old geezers. I leave the politics to Tom.” 

Across the room, Narcissa Malfoy caught Hermione’s gaze. She winked. 

Tom arrived a few seconds later and the press rushed over to his side. Hermione beat them to it, wrapping her arm around him. “No politics?” Tom asked, laughing.

"None,” Hermione said. “It’s not as though I wrote the bill to disband the Wizengamot.” 

“Or the one to end term limits,” Tom agreed. 

Hermione grinned. “Certainly not. Now, shall we?” 

Tom nodded. Together, they climbed onto the stage. The crowd roared at the sight of them. Alone, Tom had been respected. Feared. With Hermione, he was loved. They were loved. 

Tom stepped up to the podium. He kept his arm around Hermione. 

Before he began speaking, Hermione caught his gaze drifting to her stomach. His eyes filled with love, considering the child within. 

As if in response, Hermione let her hand drift to her heavily pregnant form.

Tom let her see him glow, then he pulled on a mask. The humanity left his face in an instant. “My people!” He roared. “Today, we are victorious!” 

Hermione clapped, the weight of her locket heavy around her throat. 

**THE END**


End file.
